V 


NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 


Nat  C.  Goodwi 


N 


NAT  GOODWIN'S 

BOOK 

BY 

NAT  C.  GOODWIN 

ILLUSTRATED 

ffl  \    TBT"!^ 

J 

AWTietveRiwisn 

BOSTON 

RICHARD  G.  BADGER 

THE  GORHAM  PRESS 

TORONTO:      COPP     CLARK     COMPANY     LIMITED 

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Copyright,  1914 

By  Nat  C.  Goodwin  and  Richard  G.  Badger 

All  rights  reserved 


The  Gorham  Press,  Boston,  U.S.A. 


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PREFACE 

N  penning  memoirs  or  autobiographing 
it  is  extremely  difficult  to  avoid  writing 
impersonally,  yet  I  shall  strive  to  avoid 
it  as  much  as  possible,  not  so  much 
from  a  sense  of  duty  as  from  a  stand- 
point of  mercy. 
I  have  never  enjoyed  reading  about  myself  and  I  am 
firmly  convinced  that  there  are  few  who  have.  Per- 
haps, if  I  am  tempted  during  this  review  to  give  myself 
an  opinion  of  myself,  it  may  be  received  with  favor 
even  by  those  critics  who  have  never  agreed  with  any 
of  my  characterizations. 

I  started  this  little  work  with  some  degree  of  terror. 
I  had  such  a  poor  background  to  frame  my  somewhat 
checkered  career  upon.  I  fully  realized  that  a  man 
must  be  a  very  great  person,  or  at  least  imagine  him- 
self to  be,  to  write  an  autobiography.  But  finally  after 
listening  to  the  advice  of  friends  I  approached  myself, 
albeit  surprised  at  my  temerity.  After  having  read 
many  autobiographies  I  discovered  that  most  nearly- 
great  persons  who  indulge  in  the  dissipation  of  giving 
to  the  world  their  opinions  of  themselves  were  either 
born  in  dilapidated  garrets  or  on  unproductive  farms. 
As  there  were  no  trees  in  my  garden  of  youth  nor  a 
candle  placed  in  an  empty  bottle  to  shed  its  effulgence 
upon  my  future  life  I  wondered  how  I  could  diversify 
and  be  truthful,  yet  entertaining.  A  feeling  of  appre- 
hension akin  to  that  which  always  follows  the  first 
night  of  one  of  my  productions  took  hold  of  me.     I 


vi  PREFACE 

wondered  how  this  little  effort  of  mine  would  be  re- 
ceived. 

When  reading  a  criticism  the  morning  following  a 
production  I  am  ahvays  fearful  of  being  found  out. 
If  I  am  condemned  I  know  I  have  been!  But  after  I 
have  fully  digested  all  the  unkind  criticisms,  which  are 
usually  written  by  those  who  do  not  fancy  me  in  any 
serious  effort,  I  am  in  the  end  always  superlatively 
happy  in  knowing  that  the  critic  has  done  his  duty. 

If  I  had  my  way,  he  would  be  doing  time! 

Generally  he  is  so  bhssfully  ignorant  of  what  he 
prates  about  that  I  have  a  silent  chuckle  all  to  myself 
at  the  expositions  of  his  glaring  and  blatant  incompe- 
tency. Yet  it  has  always  been  a  question  in  my  mind 
whether  the  pubKc  enjoys  reading  vituperative  attacks 
upon  its  stage  favorites  particularly  after  it  has  been 
entertained  and  amused  the  previous  evening.  I  think 
that  it  is  thoroughly  satisfied  with  its  own  verdict  and 
resents  another's  antagonistic  to  it.  It  much  more 
enjoys  reading  something  of  the  actor's  private  hfe 
particularly  when  it  can  read  something  which  exposes 
his  or  her  particular  vagaries.  And  the  pubhc  is  prone 
to  beheve  everything  the  visionary  gentlemen  of  the 
press  chronicle.  The  more  unwholesome  it  is  the  more 
it  beheves;    the  more  suggestive,  the  more  palatable. 

You  have  only  to  put  any  sort  of  halo  around  an 
actor  or  a  cigar,  good  or  bad,  to  beget  a  following  or  a 
smoker! 

Unfortunately  the  halo  that  the  pubKc  has  been  kind 
enough  to  place  above  me  will  not  bear  minute  inspec- 
tion. It  is  opaque.  However,  being  unable  to  escape 
it  I  have  ahvays  been  content  to  smile  within  and  when 
the  haloed  one  has  been  supposedly  exposed  I  can  do 
nothing  but  sit  tight  and  accept  the  inevitable.  At 
times  it  has  been  a  bit  harrowing  to  submit,  yet  it  has 
taught  me  self-control  which  I  will  endeavor  to  exercise 


PREFACE  vii 

in  this  little  work.  If  I  am  tempted  to  use  the  personal 
pronoun  more  frequently  than  necessary  I  shall  deflect 
and  command  my  thoughts,  to  wander  among  more 
agreeable  persons.  Having  lived  so  long  within  the 
confmes  of  my  kindly  bestowed  halo  I  have  become 
fully  aware  of  my  limitations.  The  agreeable  per- 
sonalities are  easily  found  and  I  hope  my  readers  will 
enjoy  their  companionship  as  much  as  I  have  enjoyed 
them. 

Every  reference  made  to  these  dehghtful  people  is 
inspired  by  the  kindliest  of  feelings  and  if  I  have  judged 
one  or  two  more  harshly  than  they  seemingly  deserve 
the  error  is  of  the  head,  not  of  the  heart;  for  I  loved, 
hked  or  admired  them  all  and  I  am  none  too  poor  to 
do  them  reverence  —  even  now. 

While  some  may  regard  my  opinions  as  impertinences 
none  can  convincingly  deny  my  right  to  think,  and  as 
all  is  given  impersonally  I  beheve  that  none  will  doubt 
my  motives. 

Many  will  question  the  various  attitudes  in  this  book 
particularly  regarding  marriage  and  divorce.  They  will 
advance  the  theory  that  the  bonds  of  matrimony  must 
be  welded  more  closely  even  when  the  participants  fmd 
it  difficult  to  five  normally.  I  know  that  many  who 
are  incarcerated  in  the  dungeons  of  matrimonial  thral- 
dom would  not  stop  at  murder  to  burst  their  bonds.  It 
does  not  require  the  philosophy  of  a  Bacon  or  an  Emer- 
son to  prove  that  such  incarceration  is  wrong.  Why 
make  martyrs  of  those  forced  to  five  together  when 
hate  supplants  love,  when  bodies  and  thoughts  play 
upon  different  instruments  producing  only  discords? 
The  laws  of  our  country  make  it  possible  for  us  to  file 
the  bars  of  our  unwholesome  cells  and  suppress  this 
monumental  mockery.  The  views  I  have  incorporated 
in  this  book,  right  or  wrong,  I  stand  by.  All  through 
my  fife   I   have  never  feared  criticism  for  any  of  my 


viu  PREFACE 

acts.  My  moral  or  physical  courage  has  never  failed. 
I  have  been  and  always  will  be  willing  to  stand  by  my 
guns  and  take  my  medicine. 

Before  completing  this  work  I  unfortunately  submitted 
a  few  excerpts  to  a  visionary  representative  of  one  of 
the  Los  Angeles  papers.  He  immediately  published 
broadcast  what  he  had  absorbed  and  very  obligingly 
gave  it  the  title  of  his  own  imagination,  "Memoirs  of 
Matrimony,"  thereby  creating  the  impression  that  my 
book  was  to  be  devoted  simply  to  my  marital  experi- 
ences. Such  was  never  my  intention,  but  as  more 
than  thirty  years  of  my  hfe  have  been  devoted  to 
matrimony  naturally  my  autobiography  demands  men- 
tion of  the  women  who  have  borne  my  name. 

I  have  been  censured  sometimes  harshly  for  my  ver- 
satihty  in  the  selection  of  wives  and  many  have  mar- 
velled at  my  fortunate  (or  unfortunate)  selections.  I 
have  always  been  long  on  the  market  of  home  and  wives. 

I  truly  believe  that  no  home  is  complete  without  a 
wife,  providing  she  is  of  the  kind  that  enjoys  the  com- 
pany of  intelligent,  honest  and  clever  people.  Some 
men  only  lease  their  mates  and  then  prate  about  their 
respectability.  If  I  have  decided  at  different  times  to 
tear  down  any  of  the  Ephesian  domes  which  I  have 
erected,  is  the  fact  of  my  destroying  them  enough  to 
warrant  my  being  known,  as  was  Alexander,  as  the  fool 
that  razed  (or  is  it  raised?)  them? 

While  autobiography  and  a  round  up  of  memories 
will  necessarily  be  conspicuous  I  shall  endeavor  also  to 
make  this  book  a  medium  of  retrospective  thoughts 
given  to  the  many  people,  prominent  and  otherwise, 
with  whom  I  have  come  in  contact.  As  I  have  no  notes 
I  shall  write  purely  from  memory's  tablets.  If  inac- 
curacies occur  they  will  be  unintentional. 

Many  of  those  dear  friends  have  long  since  passed 
down  the  lonely  mountain  trail,  but  their  sweet  mem- 


PREFACE  ix 

ories  still  linger  by  the  roadside.  If  they  but  leave  the 
perfume  of  their  souls  to  mark  the  road  for  me  to  follow 
when  I  arrive  at  the  corral  nature  has  established  in  the 
valley  I  hope  that  we  all  shall  meet  and  that  they  will 
elect  me  their  callboy,  that  I  may  be  privileged  to  ring 
up  the  curtain  upon  perpetual  joy. 

N.  C  G. 

Ocean  Park,  California. 


CONTENTS 

Chapter  Page 

I  Commencement  Day i7 

II  My  Debut 22 

III  Stuart  Robson 26 

IV  John  McCullough 35 

V  Sir  Henry  Irving 38 

VI  "Barry"  and  Jefferson 41 

VII  A  Sunny  Son  of  Sometime 49 

VIII  Charles  Hoyt 51 

IX  Sir  Charles  Wyndham 54 

X  Charles  R.  Thorne,  Jr 56 

XI  Sol  Smith  Russell 61 

XII  Richard  Mansfield 67 

XIII  In  Variety 75 

XIV  Eliza  VVeathersby 80 

XV  Successful  Failures 89 

XVI  Back  in  the   'Eighties 92 

XVII  The  Halcyon  Days  of  Union  Square 96 

XVIII  The  Birth  of  the  Syndicate loi 

XIX  Stars 109 

XX  Atmospheric  Plays 115 

XXI  Actors  Past  and  Present 118- 

XXII  Maude  Adams 121 

XXIII  Tyrone  Power 126 

XXIV  An  Artistic  Success! 127 

XXV  The  Skating  Rink 131 

XXVI  Number  Two 134 

XXVII  A  Fight  Won  (?) 140 

XXVIII  John  Chamberlain 148 

XXIX  W.  S.  Gilbert 152 

XXX  Henry  E.  Dixey 153 

XXXI  Swagger  New  Yorkers  of  Another  Day 155 

XXXII  James  Whitcomb  Riley 157 

XXXIII  Digby  Bell  and  Dewolf  Hopper 159 

XXXIV  Blaine  and  Ingersoll 162 

XXXV  Jim  Corbett  in  England 164 

XXXVI  The  Cockney  Cabby  Comedian 166 

XXXVII  A  Gilded  Fool  and  Other  Plays 168 

XXXVIII  George  M.  Cohan 177 

XXXIX  Thoughts  Vaudeville-Born 179 

XL  John  Drew         181 

XLI  The  Rivals  Revival 182 

XLII  Wilton  Lackaye 185 


XII 


CONTENTS 


Chapter  Page 

XLIII  "Young"  Mansfield 187 

XLIV  David  Warfielo 190 

XLV  A  Day  at  Reno 192 

XLVI  Lillian  Russell 197 

XLVII  Dramatic  Schools 198 

XLVI  1 1  Number  Three  (Almost) 201 

XLIX  The  Confessional 207 

L  San  Francisco 211 

LI  Antony  (?)   and  Cleopatra 216 

LI  I  Honolulu  and  Samoa 223 

LI  1 1  Publicity  —  Its  Results 230 

LIV  In  the  Land  of  the  Kangaroo 233 

LV  Welcome  (I)  Home 240 

LVI  Number  Three 243 

LVII  When  We  Were  Twenty-One  and  Other  Plays       .      .  248 

LVI  1 1  At  Jackwood 254 

LIX  "  Why  Do  Beautiful  Women  Marry  Nat  Goodwin?  "    .  262 

LX  Billy  Thompson 265 

LXI  The  Critics 266 

LXII  James  A.  Hearne 277 

LXIII  Eddie  Foy 279 

LXIV  William  Gillette 280 

LXV  William  Brady,  Esq 283 

LXVI  Robert  Ford 284 

LXVII  More  Plays 286 

LXVIII  Willie  Collier 288 

LXIX  Henry  Miller 290 

LXX  What's  in  a  Name? 291 

LXXI  I  Try  Being  a  Business  Man 293 

LXXII  The  Five  Fateful  Fishcakes  and  Number  Four       .      .  302 

LXXI  1 1  Sir  Beerbohm  Tree 315 

LXXIV  The  Origin  of  the  Stage 317 

LXXV  My  Stage-Struck  Valet 321 

LXXVI  George  C.  Tyler 324 

LXX VI I  I  Find  the  Very  Best  Phyllis 326 

LXXVI  1 1  The  Lambs  Club 329 

LXXIX  I  "Come  Back" 332 

LXXX  I  Go  Back 334 

LXXXI  David  Belasco 336 

LXXXII  "Author— Author" 337 

LXXXI  1 1  Mushroom  Managers 341 

LXXXI V  "Keep  off  the  Grass" 345 

LXXXV  California 350 

LXXXVI  I  Become  a  Barnstormer 352 

LXXXVII  Number  Five 355 

LXXXVIII  L'Envoie 356 

Index 359 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Facing  Page 

Nat  C.  Goodwin Frontispiece 

William  Warren 20 

The  greatest  comedian  that  ever  lived 

Stuart  Robson 2& 

The  best  Shakespearean  cloivn  of  modern  times 

Tony  Hart 30 

He  bad  the  face  of  an  Irish  Apollo,  did  Tony  Hart 

John  McCullough  and  Associate  Players  in  the  Dramatic  Festival        36 
"Mr."  McCullough  and  the  rest  oj  us 

Sir  Henry  Irving 40 

An  extraordinary  man 

Joseph  Jefferson 46 

/  firmly  believe  I  improved  his  morals 

Sir  Charles  Wyndham 54. 

A  remarkable  man 

Charles  R.  Thorne,  Jr 6a 

A  royal  picture  to  contemplate 

In  the  Little  Rebel 76 

One  oj  my  first  excursions  into  the  legitimate 

Eliza  Weathersby 80 

The  wije  who  mothered  me 

In  Hobbies  with  Eliza  Weathersby 84 

The  play  I  won  at  Jaro 

Lithograph  of  Goodwin's  Froliques 88 

In  Turned  Up 92 

In  the  days  when  I  was  an  imitator 

LOTTA 98 

In  the  days  when  work  was  play 

Jack  Haverly 102 

The  man  who  conceived  the  syndicate 

In  the  Gold  Mine 112 

My  get-up  in  The  Gold  Mine 

Those  Were  the  Happy  Days 118 

Coquelin 124 

Would  he  have  gone  in  vaudeville  ?    I  wonder 


xiv  LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 

Facing  Page 
Nella  Baker  Pease 134 

The  best  amateur  piano  player  I  ever  beard 

Nat  C.  Goodwin,  III 138 

Pals 150 

Richard  Carle,  Fred  G.  Stanley,  Nat  Goodwin,  Walter  Jones,  DeWolf 
Hopper 

In  Confusion 160 

Back  in  the  eighties 

Nat  Goodwin  and  Company  in  In  Mizzoura 168 

One  of  the  best  ccists  I  ever  saw 

Ticket  Sale  for  In  Mizzoura 176 

Dick  Golden 182 

We  were  pals  for  many  years 

David  Warfield  and  Nat  Goodwin 190 

I'm  proud  oj  the  company 

In  Mizzoura 200 

One  oJ  the  greatest  oj  American  plays 

AIrs.  N.  C.  Goodwin,  Sr.    .      .      .     ^ 210 

A  dear  old  lady  living  in  Boston 

How  much  a  Lamb  I  was  I  didn't  know  —  Then! 216 

An  Australian  Greeting  Can't  Touch  its  Farewell! 220 

In  An  American  Citizen 232 

//  we  bad  been  associated  a  Jew  years  longer  my  name  would  have  been 
up  as  her  leading  support! 

As  Bob  Acres 240 

/  gave  Bob  a  country  dialect 

Maxine  Elliott 246 

Fate's  partner 

In  When  We  were  Twenty-One 252 

The  biggest  bit  of  any  play  I  ever  produced 

In  Nathan  Hale 258 

"Tbey  bang  Nat  in  the  last  act" 

Wm.  H.  Thompson 264 

An  artist  to  bis  finger  tips 

James  A.  Hearne 278 

He  knew  bow  poor  Sol  "Jell" 

Robert  Ford 284 

"A  cold-blooded,  conscienceless  murderer" 

As  Cameo  Kirby         294 

/  never  played  a  character  I  liked  so  well 

Edna  Goodrich 304 

My  young  and  handsome  star 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS  xv 

Facing  Page 
A3  Shylock 310 

One  oj  my  successjul  Jailures 

In  Hamlet         320 

It  bad  always  been  my  desire  to  appear  in  Shakespearean  roles 

Margaret  Moreland 326 

Tbe  very  best  Phyllis 

As  Fagin  in  Oliver  Twist 330 

"Fagin  was  a  comedian  "  .^^^^ 

David  Belasco      . 336 

An  intellectual  giant 

Drawn  while  We  were  "Barnstorming" 344 

The  Ranch  at  San  Jacinto,  California 350 

A  scene  not  equalled  in  tbe  Austrian  Tyrol 


NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 


NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 


Chapter  I 


COMMENCEMENT  DAY 

NE  bright  morning  in  June,  1872,  the 
Little  Blue  Academy  of  old  Farmington 
College,  Maine,  rang  with  the  plaudits 
of  an  admiring  throng  of  visitors.  Some 
of  them  had  come  in  their  capacious 
coaches,  lumbering  and  crushing  their 
way  through  the  streets  of  the  usually  quiet  village, 
while  others  in  good  old  Puritan  fashion  had  come  afoot 
and  across  fields  and  by-ways.  Altogether  the  tumult 
was  great  both  without  and  within  and  the  Puritan 
housewives,  their  quiet  thus  sadly  disturbed,  devoutly 
offered  up  thanks  that  such  affairs  occurred  but  once  in 
a  twelvemonth.  But  the  clatter  of  contending  Jehus 
and  vociferous  villagers  on  the  campus  was  nothing 
compared  with  the  resounding  clash  of  palms  and  other 
noisy  demonstrations  of  approval  within. 

It  was  Commencement  Day.  Eager  papas  and  mam- 
mas, sweet,  admiring  misses  and  anxious  friends  were 
there  that  neither  valedictorian,  salutatorian,  orator  nor 
poet  might  lack  that  proper  sort  of  encouragement, 
without  which  any  affair  of  this  nature  must  necessarily 
be  incomplete.  They  were  to  decide  as  well  the  winner 
of  the  prize  in  elocution.  Truly  it  was  a  day  of  mighty 
portent. 

17 


1 8  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

Many  had  spoken  their  parts  and  the  rafters  and  roof 
had  given  back  the  approving  shouts  in  echoes  almost 
as  resounding  as  the  words  themselves.  At  length  my 
name  was  announced  by  our  preceptor  and  worthy 
master,  Mr.  Alden  J.  Blethen,  the  present  manager  and 
owner  of  the  Seattle  "Times." 

With  some  timidity,  but  tremendous  eagerness,  I 
mounted  the  improvised  rostrum  and  began  my  recita- 
tion of  a  poem  called  ''The  Uncle."  As  I  began  my  eyes 
seemed  to  be  swimming  back  and  forth  in  my  head. 
I  saw  nothing  but  birds  floating  into  space.  Then  a 
death-like  silence  ensued  and  images  usurped  the  place 
of  birds.  They  assumed  forms  and  through  the  mists 
came  men  and  women  and  one  by  one  they  seemed  to 
come  before  my  vision  until  the  room  was  fifled.  I 
finished,  I  thought,  in  a  hush  and  was  utterly  obhvious 
to  the  great  burst  of  applause  which  greeted  my  eff'orts. 
My  seat-mate,  poor  Charhe  Thomas  who  in  after  years 
was  associated  with  Charles  Hoyt,  the  writer  and  pro- 
ducer of  many  successful  farce  comedies,  grabbed  me  by 
the  arm  and  hurled  me  back  upon  the  stage  whispering, 
"Give  them  that  'Macbeth'  speech!"  Mechanically  I 
acted  upon  his  suggestion  and  began  the  sohloquy.  I 
remembered  nothing  more  until  we  left  the  halL  In 
fact  I  was  in  a  comatose  state  until  summoned  that 
evening  by  Mr.  Blethen  to  come  into  his  hbrary  where, 
in  the  presence  of  the  other  scholars,  I  was  presented 
with  a  set  of  Shakespeare's  Complete  Works. 

As  I  went  to  my  room  that  night  I  began  to  dream  of 
the  life  to  come.  I  saw  myself  startling  the  world  as 
King  Lear. 

Two  days  after  I  received  the  first  newspaper  criticism 
of  my  work  from  the  Portland  papers.  The  notices 
pleased  me  beyond  words  and  brought  more  joy  to  my 
young  heart  than  any  I  ever  received  in  after  life. 
With  pardonable  pride,  I  trust,  I  set  one  forth  here:  — 


COMMENCEMENT  DAY  19 

*'The  little  Academy  had  never  known  the  dehrium  of 
applause  until  a  slight,  delicate  youth,  with  peculiar 
flaxen  hair,  round  blue  eyes,  and  a  complexion  as  fair 
as  a  girl's  mounted  the  rostrum  and  spoke  his  lines. 
Such  elocution  must  have  awakened  unusual  interest, 
and  so  easy  was  the  speaker,  so  perfect  his  actions  and 
charming  his  intelhgence,  that  the  old  dormitory  shook 
with  plaudits." 

I  was  told  twenty-five  years  later  by  a  little  Jew 
critic  named  Cohen  that  I  lacked  all  these  attributes, 
after  I  had  devoted  a  quarter  of  a  century  in  earnest 
endeavor  to  accentuate  them!  How  I  must  have  retro- 
graded in  all  those  years!  Until  he  told  me  I  thought 
I  must  have  travelled  ahead,  for  I  could  not  possibly 
have  gone  back.  But  perhaps  I  never  started!  The 
notices  in  the  Portland  papers  fanned  the  smoke  into  a 
flame  and  from  that  day  I  determined  to  become  an 
actor.  Some  years  before  I  had  become  imbued  with 
the  idea,  the  inspiration  coming  from  my  living  in  close 
proximity  to  an  actors'  boarding-house  kept  by  a  Mrs. 
Fisher  at  No.  3  Bulfinch  Place,  Boston.  Many  and 
many  a  time  have  I  waited  between  school  hours  and 
play  to  catch  a  ghmpse  of  the  occupants  of  this  cele- 
brated yet  modest  hostelry,  for  here  were  housed  many 
conspicuous  actors  of  the  day.  Many  a  time  I  endeav- 
ored to  touch  the  sleeve  or  any  part  of  the  garment 
of  the  players  as  they  emerged  from  the  house  on  their 
way  to  rehearsals  and  if  I  succeeded  my  mission  was 
fulfilled  for  the  day. 

On  one  occasion  Wifliam  Warren's  hat  blew  off".  I 
rushed  for  it  and  rescued  it  from  beneath  a  horse's 
hoofs.  I  returned  it  to  the  owner  and  he  thanked  me 
very  graciously.  The  incident  was  too  much  for  my 
young  nerves.  I  played  hookey  that  afternoon.  School 
had  no  charms  for  me  that  day.  An  actor  had  spoken 
to  me! 


20  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

Years  after  I  was  privileged  to  meet  this  gentleman 
at  a  breakfast  given  in  my  honor  by  the  Elks  of  Boston 
with  Mayor  O'Brien  in  the  chair.  I  had  been  invited 
to  appear  at  a  charity  benefit  to  be  preceded  by  this 
breakfast.  I  was  playing  at  the  time  at  the  Bijou 
Theatre,  New  York,  but  I  arranged  to  leave  on  the 
midnight  train,  arriving  in  time  for  the  breakfast  at 
nine.  Afterwards  I  appeared  at  eleven  o'clock  at  the 
benefit,  catching  the  one  o'clock  train  back  to  New 
York. 

Upon  my  arrival  in  Boston  the  Mayor  met  me  at 
the  train  with  a  Committee  which  took  me  in  charge. 
We  drove  straight  to  the  breakfast  room.  There  the 
first  to  greet  me  was  dear  old  Wilham  Warren.  A  lump 
came  up  into  my  throat  as  big  as  a  water  melon. 
Think  of  it  —  that  tall,  big  player  to  greet  me!  With 
outstretched  hand  he  bade  me  welcome  home  where, 
he  said,  all  loved  me.  "Come  and  sit  by  me,  my  son," 
said  he,  and  as  I  turned  to  answer  him  he  looked  to  me 
like  a  god.  I  was  privileged  to  sit  by  the  genius  whose 
coat  hem  I  had  in  years  gone  by  waited  for  hours  to 
touch.  He  was  unconsciously  rewarding  me  for  my 
boyish  hero-worship.  He  was  touching  my  heart  strings 
and  creating  dehghtful  memories  to  remain  forever  in 
my  mind.  No  food  passed  my  lips.  I  was  above  the 
clouds  playing  upon  a  golden  harp!  My  blood  flowed 
through  my  veins  like  lava!  I  was  sitting  by  a  great 
comedian  and,  beheve  me,  I  was  glad,  for  I  consider 
Wilham  Warren  the  greatest  comedian  that  ever  lived. 

After  the  breakfast  which  was  hurriedly  eaten  we 
started  for  the  playhouse.  I  was  so  nervous  that  I 
could  scarcely  make  up,  but  I  knew  that  I  had  to  do 
something  as  this  great  man  was  in  the  audience. 

At  length  the  moment  came  for  me  to  make  my 
entrance.  Tremendous  applause  greeted  me.  I  en- 
deavored to  play  as  I   had  never  played  before.     My 


William  Warren  . 

The  greatest  comedian  thai  ever  lived 


COMMENCEMENT  DAY  21 

inspiration  was  the  gentle  face  in  the  right-hand  box 
beaming  upon  my  incompetency.  I  was  dreadfully  self 
conscious.  I  knew  I  was  in  the  presence  of  a  master 
and  try  as  I  would  nothing  seemed  to  get  over  the 
footlights  as  I  wished.  Every  word  seemed  to  stop 
dead  at  that  right-hand  box  and  would  not  go  beyond. 
When  the  finish  came  I  offered  up  a  silent  prayer  of 
gratitude. 

As  I  wended  my  way  slowly  to  the  dressing-room 
someone  congratulated  me  upon  my  efforts.  As  I  sank 
into  my  chair  the  stage  manager  opened  the  door, 
reiterating  the  congratulations.  I  simply  asked,  "How 
did  Mr.  Warren  hke  me?"  Before  he  could  answer 
the  tall  figure  of  Warren  appeared  at  the  door  and  he 
said,  **I  couldn't  have  done  it  better  myself,  young 
man!"  Then  he  patted  me  on  the  shoulder,  saying, 
"Hurry,  or  you'll  miss  your  train."  He  shook  me  by 
the  hand,  bade  me  good-bye  and  returned  to  the  board- 
ing house  where  he  had  lived  for  many  years,  to  his 
little  back  room.  A  few  weeks  later  twelve  men  bore 
his  body  to  Mt.  Auburn  Cemetery  placing  him  among 
the  roses. 

Warren's  Sir  Peter  Teazle,  Jefferson  Scattering  Bat- 
kins,  Jessie  Rural,  Tony  Lumpkin,  Bob  Acres,  Dr. 
Pangloss  and  about  all  of  Shakespeare's  clowns  have 
never  been  equaled  by  any  player  of  any  age.  He  had 
all  the  humor  and  the  pathos  that  comedy  is  heir  to  — 
a  player  of  the  old  school,  not  the  night  school. 


Chapter  II 


MY  DEBUT 

iFTER  leaving  the  Little  Blue  Academy 
of  Old  Farmington  I  returned  to  New 
York  with  my  parents.  We  were  there 
but  a  short  time  when  we  returned 
to  Boston,  where  my  father,  one  of 
those  thoroughgoing  Bostonians  who 
intended  me  for  the  law,  compromised  by  securing  for 
me  a  position  as  an  entry  clerk  in  the  counting-room 
of  Wellington  Bros.  &  Co.,  dry  goods  merchants.  This 
did  not  appeal  to  me,  and  at  stray  intervals  I  found 
great  pleasure  in  fraternizing  with  a  few  actors  with 
whom  I  had  become  acquainted.  I  preferred  play 
books  to  the  ledgers  and  account  books  of  Wellington 
Bros.  They  were  my  special  delight,  and  I  devoted 
all  my  spare  time  to  committing  the  lines  of  the  lead- 
ing parts  to  memory.  My  father  always  allowed  me 
money  to  attend  the  theatres.  I  was  privileged  to  see 
all  the  great  actors  of  my  day,  and  every  other  night 
found  me  in  either  the  front  row  of  the  balcony,  or 
gallery  of  the  local  theatres.  I  would  go  over  the  lines 
as  I  had  heard  them,  and  in  doing  so  found  that  I  could 
reproduce  the  tones  and  gestures  of  the  players  I  had 
seen.  Thus  I  discovered  that  I  had  the  gift  of  imita- 
tion. One  by  one  I  added  to  my  parts  until  at  length 
I  found  that  I  had  a  repertoire  of  seventeen.  I  would 
rehearse  them  with  my  only  auditor,  my  mother,  who 
considered  them  perfect. 

Night  usually  found  me  at  the  back  door  of  the 
Boston  Theatre  or  Boston  Museum  importuning  the 
Captain  of  the  Supers  to  be  allowed  to  carry  a  spear. 

22 


MY  DEBUT  23 

The  major  portion  of  my  time  was  given  to  affairs 
theatrical  until  finally  my  employers  decided  to  dis- 
pense with  my  valuable  services,  and  much  to  my 
delight  I  was  cast  adrift. 

My  mother,  who  always  had  a  great  fondness  for 
the  stage  and  was  always  seeking  the  society  of  those 
connected  with  it,  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Charles  R.  Thorne,  Sr.,  the  father  and  mother 
of  Charles,  Edwin  and  William  Thorne,  and  persuaded 
them  to  take  a  suite  of  rooms  at  our  house  in  Boston, 
situated  at  the  corner  of  Bulfinch  and  Howard  Streets, 
directly  opposite  the  famous  Mrs.  Fisher's  theatrical 
boarding-house.  The  Thornes  were  very  delightful  old 
people,  and  for  hours  I  would  sit  and  listen  to  them 
discussing  the  favorites  of  olden  times,  dating  back  to 
the  advent  of  the  Keans.  Finally,  they  persuaded 
their  son  Edwin  to  come  and  live  with  us,  and  for  the 
first  time  I  found  myself  in  the  divine  atmosphere  of 
the  players'  life.  Edwin  was  the  leading  man  at  the 
Howard  Athenaeum,  playing  stock  pieces  and  support- 
ing travelling  stars. 

The  Thornes  were  a  great  delight  to  me,  as  they  had 
the  entry  to  all  the  playhouses  in  Boston,  and  it  was 
i^y  joy  to  accompany  dear  Mrs.  Thorne  to  every 
"first  night." 

Edwin  Thorne  finally  left  our  house  and  became 
leading  man  at  the  Providence  Opera  House,  under  the 
management  of  William  Henderson.  I  would  often 
visit  Providence,  go  behind  the  scenes  and  hold  the 
book  while  Thorne  was  committing  his  various  parts 
to  memory.  It  is  unnecessary  to  state  that  I  was 
always  enthralled  at  these  golden  opportunities.  After 
repeated  requests  Thorne  was  persuaded  to  use  his 
influence  in  procuring  me  an  engagement.  Finally  I 
was  offered  the  part  of  Sir  George  Hounslow  in  the 
old    melodrama,    '*The    Bottle."     I    fortified    myself 


24  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

with  a  blonde  wig,  never  dreaming  of  using  my  own 
blonde  locks.  I  thought  every  actor  should  wear  a 
wig.  From  Thome's  wardrobe  I  selected  clothing  al- 
together too  large  for  my  slim  proportions.  I  required 
inspiration  and  atmosphere  and  decided  that  in  the 
wardrobe  of  the  illustrious  player  I  should  find  it. 
Bedecked  in  those  ill-fitting  garments  I  stood  at  the 
wings  on  the  opening  night  waiting  for  my  cue. 

I  was  possessed  of  so  much  assurance  at  rehearsals 
that  little  attention  had  been  paid  to  me  regarding  the 
details  of  stage  business,  the  stage  manager  taking  all 
for  granted.  I  was  the  bad  young  man  of  the  play, 
seeking  to  bring  about  the  dishonor  of  the  soubrette. 
I  was  supposed  to  have  endeavored  to  embrace  her 
down  the  road,  she  to  have  eluded  my  advances  and 
broken  away,  rushing  onto  the  stage,  I  following. 
Naturally  she  did  not  rehearse  all  she  intended  to  do 
that  evening,  and  while  I  was  quietly  talking  with  her 
in  the  entrance,  the  cue  was  given  and  she  uttered  a 
fearful  shriek!  I  didn't  know  what  had  happened  and 
looked  around  for  the  cause.  Then  I  found  she  was  in 
the  center  of  the  stage  wildly  beckoning  me  to  come 
on  and  finish  the  scene  that  was  supposed  to  have 
started  down  the  road.  Somebody  shoved  me  on. 
The  orchestra  played  chilly  music  suggestive  of  my 
base  intentions.  This  took  every  line  out  of  my  head, 
and  I  simply  stood  there  and  gasped!  Not  a  sound 
could  I  ejaculate!  The  young  lady  contemplated  me 
for  a  moment  and  cried,  **You  shall  not!"  Then  she 
rushed  off,  leaving  me  transfixed.  From  each  side  of 
the  stage  I  could  hear,  **Come  off!  Come  ofi"!"  but 
I  seemed  paralyzed  and  could  not  stir.  At  last  the 
lights  went  out,  the  scene  was  changed  and  when  I 
came  to  I  found  myself  in  the  property  room  with  two 
or  three  gentlemen  in  red  flannel  shirts  throwing  water 
into  my  face.     They  left  me  for  an  instant,  and  I  ran 


MY  DEBUT  25 

out  of  the  stage  door  in  all  my  makeup  and  Thorne*s 
wardrobe  (which  he  afterwards  told  me  I  failed  to 
return).  I  waited  until  the  train  came  through  for 
Boston  and  boarded  it,  utterly  oblivious  of  the  sen- 
sation I  was  creating  among  the  passengers  by  my 
painted  face  and  penciled  eyebrows.  I  jumped  into 
a  cab  upon  my  arrival  at  the  Boston  station,  drove 
home  to  my  parents  and  threw  myself  into  my  mother's 
arms  crying,  "I  cannot  act!  Get  me  a  position  in  a 
shoe  store!" 

I  was  heartbroken  for  many  weeks  and  firmly  re- 
solved never  to  become  an  actor;  but  gradually  my 
mother,  who  always  believed  in  my  hidden  histrionic 
powers,  instilled  some  courage  into  my  soul,  I  yielded 
to  her  sympathy  and  advice  and  determined  to  try 
once  more. 

Through  my  mother's  influence  my  father  bowed  at 
last  to  what  seemed  the  inevitable  and  consented  to 
permit  me  to  prepare  myself  for  the  stage,  exacting 
from  me  a  promise,  however,  that  I  would  devote  not 
less  than  five  hours  a  day  to  my  studies.  Accordingly 
I  was  sent  to  Wyzeman  Marshall,  an  old-school  actor 
of  some  repute  during  the  reign  of  Edwin  Forrest,  who 
undertook  my  training.  I  spent  many  happy  hours 
with  this  charming  old  gentleman  as  he  devoted  most 
of  his  (and  my)  time  to  anecdotes  and  stories  of  the 
past.  He  taught  me  but  little,  apart  from  the  scan- 
ning of  Shakespeare,  which  he  thoroughly  instilled  into 
my  mind,  so  the  few  months  which  I  spent  under 
his  tutelage  did  me  much  good.  I  had  no  thought 
of  being  a  comedian  and  devoted  all  of  my  time  to 
the  study  of  serious  roles,  from  Douglas  to  the  bloody 
Thane  of  Cawdor,  and  committed  all  those  parts  to 
memory. 

Fortunately  for  me  at  this  time  I  became  acquainted 
with  Stuart  Robson. 


Chapter  III 
STUART  ROBSON 


Y  meeting  with  Stuart  Robson  was 
brought  about  by  the  influence  of  Joseph 
Bradford,  a  clever  playwright  of  the 
day.  He  had  heard  my  imitations  of 
actors  and  pronounced  upon  them  favor- 
ably, "not  only  for  their  accuracy,"  as 
he  put  it,  but  the  methods  I  employed  reminded  him  of 
a  dear  friend  of  his  who  had  passed  away  some  years 
before  —  Robert  Craig,  to  whom  I  was  told  I  bore  a 
striking  resemblance. 

Robert  Craig  was  a  clever  player,  playwright  and 
wonderful  mimic.  He  was  for  years  leading  comedian 
at  Mrs.  John  Drew's  Arch  Street  Theatre,  Philadelphia. 
Had  he  lived  he  would  certainly  have  made  dramatic 
history  for  himself.  I  have  only  a  faint  recollection  of 
him,  but  Bradford  often  told  me  of  his  many  wonderful 
gifts  and  I  have  many  times  wished  that  I  had  been 
born  earlier  or  he  later. 

Bradford  was  an  extraordinary  person.  A  most  in- 
competent actor,  which  he  often  with  great  regret 
admitted,  but  one  of  the  greatest  geniuses  that  I  have 
ever  met  —  a  master  in  all  matters  pertaining  to  the 
drama  and  literature  of  the  theatre.  Had  he  lived  I 
feel  certain  that  he  would  have  become  the  Pinero  of 
the  American  stage.  Alas,  he  was  given  to  conviviality 
and  hved  only  for  his  friends. 

He  possessed  a  splendid  physique  and  was  gifted  with 

fme    conversational    power.     His    fund    of   humor    was 

26 


Stuart  Robson 

Tbe  best  Shakespearean  clown  of  modern  times 


STUART  ROBSON  27 

excelled  by  none.  He  was  liberal  to  a  fault,  devoid  of 
egotism,  with  always  a  kindly  word  for  those  with  whom 
he  came  in  contact  and  possessed  a  brain  as  pyrotech- 
nical  as  Paine's  fireworks.  You  can  imagine  his  influence 
upon  those  who  were  fortunate  enough  to  be  his  asso- 
ciates. His  knowledge  of  painting,  drama,  music,  sculp- 
ture, Hterature,  poetry,  in  fact  all  the  arts,  seemed 
unhmited.  As  a  critic  he  had  a  style  pecuharly  his 
own,  equalled  only  by  Hazlitt,  Lamb,  Lewes  and  a  few 
others.  He  was  a  graduate  of  Annapolis  and  left  there 
with  many  honors.  Very  often  we  would  sit  in  his 
rooms  and  he  would  read  me  his  prose  and  poetry, 
which  he  never  allowed  to  be  published  but  which  I 
think  was  as  nearly  unique  as  that  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe, 
to  whom  he  bore  a  striking  resemblance.  He  was  a 
devotee  at  the  shrine  of  Poe  and  often  regretted  the 
untimely  end  of  America's  greatest  lyrical  genius. 
Little  did  he  imagine  that  his  end  would  be  the  same. 
Burns,  Poe  and  Bradford  were  the  victims  of  their 
mastering  passion  —  the  loving  cup. 

Through  his  kindly  interest  and  guidance  I  was  en- 
abled to  secure  my  first  real  engagement  and  make  the 
acquaintance  of  the  best  Shakespearean  clown  of  modern 
times  and  one  of  the  cleverest  of  modern  comedians  as 
well,  Stuart  Robson. 

I  remember  the  morning  Bradford  guided  me  behind 
the  scenes  of  the  old  Howard  Athenaeum  to  present  me 
to  Stuart  Robson.  As  we  entered  we  found  that  gentle- 
man in  the  throes  of  a  busy  rehearsal  of  one  of  Brad- 
ford's plays.  As  I  stood  in  the  entrance  faint  from 
excitement  Robson  stopped,  looked  toward  the  entrance 
where  I  stood,  transfixed,  walked  toward  me  and  said, 
"My  God,  Brad!  who  is  this  young  man?"  Bradford 
answered,  **A  young  friend  of  mine  who  wants  to  go  on 
the  stage.  Of  whom  does  he  remind  you,  Rob?"  Rob- 
son looked  at  me  for  a  minute,  and  ejaculated,  "Merci- 


28  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

ful  powers,  Bob  Craig!'*  After  being  introduced  we 
shook  hands  and  he  said,  "Come  into  my  dressing-room, 
young  man,  and  let  me  have  a  good  look  at  you."  As 
we  entered  the  room  he  seated  me  upon  a  trunk,  took 
both  my  hands  in  his  and  with  the  tears  streaming  down 
his  face  gasped,  ** Wonderful!  Wonderful!  I  have  never 
seen  such  a  resemblance  between  two  human  beings!" 

Within  a  few  minutes  the  rehearsal  was  dismissed. 
Bradford  and  Robson  took  their  seats  in  the  front  row 
of  the  parquet  and  I  went  through  my  repertoire  of 
imitations.  I  rendered  sixteen  and  Rob,  bless  him, 
always  pronounced  the  last  one  the  best.  I  was  about 
to  leave  the  stage  when  Brad  insisted  that  I  should  give 
one  of  Robson.  I  put  a  veto  upon  that  proposition  and 
after  about  fifteen  minutes  of  violent  pleading  Robson, 
who  understood  my  feehngs,  sustained  the  veto. 

Robson  immediately  offered  me  a  part  in  the  play 
which  he  was  about  to  produce,  and  on  the  following 
Monday  I  appeared  in  Bradford's  play,  "Law  in  New 
York,"  as  Ned  the  newsboy,  and  in  the  pier  scene 
I  first  gave  my  imitations  of  celebrated  actors  on  the 
stage  of  a  theatre. 

They  told  me  that  my  stunt  went  remarkably  well, 
but  I  have  no  recollection  of  what  occurred.  After  I 
had  responded  to  several  encores  someone  in  the  gallery 
cried  out,  "Give  us  an  imitation  of  Robson!"  It  took 
my  breath  away,  but  I  stood  still  and  calmly  shook  my 
head.  I  was  recalled  and  still  the  cry  came,  "Robson! 
Robson!"  He  was  standing  in  the  wings  and  as  I 
came  off  I  said,  "What  can  I  do,  Mr.  Robson?  They 
are  clamoring  for  me  to  give  an  imitation  of  you!" 
'''Do?"  said  he  in  that  falsetto  voice  so  well  known  to 
theatregoers  of  that  period,  "Go  back  and  give  the 
villains  hell!"  On  the  impulse  of  the  moment  I  went 
through  an  entire  scene  which  the  audience  had  just 
witnessed  between  Robson  and  a  favorite  player  named 


STUART  ROBSON  29 

Henry  Bloodgood.  As  I  assumed  each  voice,  particu- 
larly. Robson's,  the  applause  was  deafening,  and  at  the 
finish,  after  repeated  recalls,  Robson  was  obliged  to 
take  me  on  and  make  a  speech,  thanking  the  audience 
in  my  behalf. 

After  the  play  Robson  said  to  me,  **  Young  Goodwin, 
you  have  done  two  things  tonight  that  I  shall  never 
forget  —  halted  the  performance  of  a  very  good  play 
and  given  a  very  bad  imitation  of  me.  I  could  have 
done  it  better  myself." 

Poor  Rob,  hke  all  people  possessed  of  conspicuous 
mannerisms,  was  never  able  to  detect  his  even  when 
emphasized  by  mimicry.  One  can  never  see  himself  in 
another. 

I  appreciated  this  in  after  life  when  I  was  seated  in 
the  private  box  of  the  Broadway  Theatre,  New  York. 
A  young  man  named  Alf  Hampton  had  given  what  I 
considered  some  remarkably  clever  imitations  of  leading 
actors.  Having  somewhat  of  a  reputation  at  that  time 
in  this  same  line  and  being  rather  conspicuous  that 
evening  I  gave  vent  to  my  pleasure  by  applauding  most 
vociferously  all  of  his  efforts.  To  my  horror  he  ap- 
proached the  footlights  and  announced  an  imitation  of 
me!  As  he  finished  the  applause  from  all  over  the  house 
shook  the  rafters,  but  I  could  not  discover  one  familiar 
tone.  As  he  gave  the  imitation  a  friend  of  mine,  seated 
in  the  front  row,  looked  over  and  very  audibly  asked, 
"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that,  Nat?"  I  repfied, 
"One  of  us  is  rotten." 

Poor  Bradford  dissipated  his  genius,  and  died,  twenty 
odd  years  ago,  in  penury.  I  was  not  present  at  his  death, 
but  fortunately  I  arrived  in  time  to  save  him  from  a 
pauper's  grave,  and  he  now  sleeps  tranquilly  in  beauti- 
ful Mt.  Auburn  with  his  poems  and  other  children  of  his 
brain  — a  happy  family  known  only  to  the  elect.  Adieu, 
dear  friend.     "Though  lost  to  sight,  to  memory  dear." 


30  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

Through  all  my  theatrical  career  up  to  Robson's 
exit  from  life's  theatre  the  closest  association  and  dearest 
friendship  existed  between  us.  He  was  always  my 
sponser,  my  adviser;  and  what  knowledge  he  bestowed 
relative  to  the  ethics  of  our  art!  Analytically  he  was 
master  of  more  of  the  fundamental  rules  of  acting  than 
even  Lawrence  Barrett  who  was  an  authority.  While 
Robson  was  never  able  to  convey  a  sentimental  thought 
by  any  facial  expression  or  delivery,  he  could  point  out 
correctly  the  methods  required  to  convey  them.  Had 
he  not  been  handicapped  by  a  vocal  organ  that  squeaked 
forth  only  fun,  his  pathos  would  have  equalled  John  E. 
Owens'  or  Joe  Jefferson's. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  time  when  Robson,  Crane,  and  I 
appeared  in  an  act  of  "Julius  Caesar"  at  a  benefit  given 
to  poor  Tony  Hart.  Robson  was  the  Cassius;  Crane, 
Brutus,  and  I  was  cast  for  Antony.  We  gave  the 
characters  all  the  study  and  attention  due  to  the  great 
master  and  were  firm  in  our  resolution  to  play  the 
respective  roles  with  proper  reverence,  to  bestow  upon 
them  all  the  tragic  force  and  power  within  our  capac- 
ities; but  the  pubHc  took  the  idea  in  a  spirit  of  jest 
and  came  prepared  to  see  us  burlesque  the  characters, 
never  assuming  that  we  were  in  earnest  in  our  purpose. 

The  afternoon  came.  The  theatre  was  packed.  I 
was  the  first  of  the  trio  to  make  an  entrance.  For- 
tunately I  came  on  with  the  mob  and  my  few  lines 
passed  unnoticed,  as  none  in  front  recognized  me.  To 
be  sure  I  was  denied  the  thrills  of  a  reception,  but  I  had 
the  end  of  an  act  and  was  quite  content  to  wait. 

The  scene  was  soon  over  and  the  full  stage  of  the  old 
Academy  of  Music  opened  radiantly  as  Robson  and 
Crane  made  their  entrances  as  Cassius  and  Brutus. 
They  came  majestically  forth  and  were  greeted  by 
applause  that  lasted  fully  a  minute.  They  looked 
pictures.     Forrest  and  Macready  never  looked  more  like 


Tony  Hart 

He  bad  the  face  of  an  Irish  Apollo,  did  Tony  Hart 


STUART  ROBSON  3 1 

Roman  senators  than  those  two  comedians  as  they 
acknowledged  the  plaudits  with  true  tragic  dignity. 
Then  a  hush,  as  the  audience  settled  back  for  the  ex- 
pected travesty.  It  needed  only  the  familiar  notes  of 
Rob's  voice  to  reassure  them  that  they  were  right  in 
their  conjectures  and  a  shout  of  laughter  went  up  as  he 
began  the  speech,  **That  I  do  love  you,  Brutus,"  etc. 
The  shrieks  of  laughter  interrupted  his  long  thoughtout 
dehvery.  He  paused.  His  face  became  livid  even 
through  his  heavy  make  up.  Then  he  began  the  speech 
again  in  a  more  modulated  tone.  The  second  time  he 
got  as  far  as  **I  do  love  you,  Brutus,"  when  another  yell 
blared  from  the  front.  He  again  stopped,  bit  his  lips 
with  suppressed  rage  and  waited  a  few  seconds.  It 
seemed  an  eternity  to  us  in  the  entrance.  Then  Rob 
raised  his  hand  and  by  a  simple  gesture  commanded 
silence. 

The  laughter  soon  quieted  down  as  it  became  ap- 
parent that  Robson  was  endeavoring  to  play  the  part 
legitimately  and  a  subdued  silence  greeted  him  as  he 
began  his  speech  for  the  third  time.  He  started  in 
even  a  lower  key  and  continued  the  speech.  As  he  got 
into  it  he  began  to  feel  the  meaning  of  the  words  and 
tried  to  read  them  with  true  expression.  As  he  gave 
them  the  necessary  emphasis  his  voice,  that  most  ready 
of  organs,  refused  to  obey  the  dictation  of  the  brain 
and  the  gradual  crescendo  required  for  the  delivery 
became  a  succession  of  Robsoneyn  squeaks!  The 
audience  loyally  tried  to  suppress  its  hilarity.  At  first 
it  smiled,  then  giggled,  then  peals  of  laughter  hurled 
themselves  across  the  footlights  like  shots  from  a  Gat- 
ling  gun.  All  upon  the  stage,  except  poor  Robson, 
heard  the  merry  storm.  He  was  now  thoroughly  en- 
grossed and  squeaked  away  to  beat  Gilmore's  band, 
utterly  oblivious  of  the  fun  he  was  creating.  Thinner 
and  thinner  came  Rob*s  squeak;  louder  and  still  louder 


32  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

came  the  laughter  until  it  became  a  veritable  avalanche. 
As  he  reached  the  line, 

''Did  from  the  flames  of  Troy  upon  his  shoulder  the 
old  Anchises  bear"  — 

He  realized  that  the  audience  was  laughing  at  him 
and  he  continued, 

**Did  I,  the  tired  Caesar,  you  blankety-blank,  blan- 
kety-blank!",  his  added  interpolation  being  really  unfit 
for  pubhcation. 

Fortunately  the  laughter  drowned  the  words.  Had 
the  audience  heard  them  the  performance  would  have 
ended  then  and  there.  We  all  thought  that  it  must 
have  heard,  that  the  end  had  come.  I  prayed  fer- 
vently that  it  had,  but  no  such  luck!  It  gradually 
quieted  down  and  the  play  proceeded.  When  my  turn 
came  to  end  the  act  some  of  my  friends  said  I  did  very 
creditably.  At  all  events  I  got  through  without  a 
laugh.  And  that  I  considered  a  triumph.  We  often 
referred  to  it  in  after  life  and  always  with  great 
pleasure. 

Robson  was  a  unique  person,  gifted  with  the  most 
thorough  sense  of  right  and  wrong  of  any  man  I  ever 
knew.  His  word  was  a  contract  and  with  it  went  the 
liberahty  of  a  king.  He  absolutely  refused  to  grow  old 
and  sought  only  the  young.  He  tried  to  emulate  the 
deeds  of  charity  of  the  Good  Samaritan  and  had  a  kind 
word  for  all  humanity.  He  possessed  the  soul  of  a 
saint  and  the  heart  of  a  fawn.  His  motto  was  justice. 
He  wrote  the  words  and  music  of  honor. 

In  a  spirit  of  jest  he  once  promised  a  coachman  a 
gift  of  five  thousand  dollars  if  the  coachman  succeeded 
in  winning  the  hand  and  heart  of  a  certain  lady.  He 
gave  him  one  dollar  on  account  never  dreaming  that 
the  man  would  woo  and  win  successfully.  Imagine  his 
surprise  when  six  years  later  the  man  turned  up  and 
informed  him  of  the  date  of  the  wedding.     I  happened 


STUART  ROBSON  33 

to  be  present  at  the  time  at  his  summer  place  at  Co- 
hasset,  Mass.  The  coachman  went  his  way  and  Rob 
told  me  of  his  promise.  I  said,  "Surely,  you  are  not 
going  to  make  good  a  promise  made  in  jest?"  He 
answered,  '*I  am,"  went  inside  the  house  and  in  a  few 
minutes  came  back  on  the  veranda  with  the  cheque  for 
four  thousand,  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  dollars 
in  his  hand.  He  called  his  daughter  and  sent  her 
down  the  road  with  the  cheque  in  quest  of  the  young 
coachman,  with  instructions  to  present  it  to  him  as  a 
wedding  gift  *'from  S.  Robson,  Esquire,"  ordered  a 
brandy  and  soda  from  his  servant  and  rudely  left  me 
with  instructions  to  *'  Go  home ! "  Knowing  dear 
Rob's  proclivities  for  B  and  S's,  I  loitered  about  for 
a  few  hours  and  then  returned  to  the  house,  but  Rob 
had  disappeared. 

His  daughter  and  I  finally  located  him,  with  a  few 
convivial  friends  in  the  hotel  bar  at  Hingham.  He 
called  us  to  one  side  and  quietly  asked  his  daughter  if 
she  had  performed  the  duty  as  requested.  She  an- 
swered, "Yes,  papa,  I  gave  him  the  cheque."  Rob 
asked,  "How  did  he  take  it?"  His  daughter  replied, 
"Papa,  he  cried!"  "How  long  did  he  cry?"  asked  Rob. 
"About  a  minute,"  she  rephed.  "That's  nothing," 
said  Rob,  "when  I  signed  it  I  cried  an  hour!" 

I  could  fill  pages  with  such  deeds  of  his  as  this  one 
and  I  knew  him,  man  and  boy,  for  thirty  years.  The 
world  never  knew  a  better  man  than  Stuart  Robson; 
a  loving  father,  a  dutiful  husband,  a  great  comedian,  an 
honest  actor  and  an  upright  American  citizen.  To  quote 
from  one  of  Boucicault's  plays  in  which  he  appeared, 
"He  had  the  soul  of  a  Romeo  and  the  face  of  a  comic 


singer." 


God  bless  you,  Rob,  wherever  you  and  our  dear 
friend,  Bob  IngersoII,  are!  Move  over,  and  leave  a 
place   for  me!     If  it's   hell,    I'll   invoke  a  blizzard;    if 


34  NAT  GOOD\\IN'S  BOOK 

Heaven,  we  shall  need  each  other's  companionship! 
We  shall  say  that  we  were  wrong  down  here  and  ask  to 
be  forgiven. 

Shall  we  be? 

I  wonder! 


Chapter  IV 
JOHN    McCULLOUGH 


r  the  end  of  the  year  1882  I  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  manager  of  the 
Dramatic  Festival  which  was  to  be  held 
at  Cincinnati  and  was  engaged  to  play 
the  grave  digger  in  "Hamlet'*  and  Modus 
in  "The  Hunchback."  Neither  of  these 
parts  had  ever  been  assumed  by  me  prior  to  his  engage- 
ment. It  had  always  been  my  desire  to  appear  in 
Shakespearean  roles  and  other  legitimate  characters. 

The  Dramatic  Festival  was  a  splendid  success,  artis- 
tically and  financially.  We  began  April  30,  1883,  the 
first  performance  being  "Julius  Caesar."  My  associates 
were  John  McCuIIough,  Lawrence  Barrett,  James  E. 
Murdoch,  Mary  Anderson,  Mile.  Rhea,  Clara  Morris 
and  Kate  Forsythe.  The  other  plays  given  were  "The 
Hunchback,"  "Much  Ado  About  Nothing,"  "Othello," 
"Hamlet"  and  "Romeo  and  Juliet."  The  enterprise 
was  managed  by  R.  E.  J.  Miles  and  stage-managed  by 
William  H.  Daly.  The  receipts  for  the  week  were  in 
the  neighborhood  of  a  hundred  thousand  dollars.  It 
was  a  happy  time,  marred  only  by  our  discovering  that 
poor  John  McCuIIough  was  a  doomed  man,  his  mind 
showing  a  gradual  decay.  It  was  the  beginning  of  the 
end,  for  in  a  few  months  the  curtain  rang  down  on  dear 
John  and  he  walked  the  stage  no  more. 

A  great,  big-hearted,  genial  soul  was  lovable  John 
McCuIIough!  Everybody  loved  him  and  who  could 
help  it?     Broad-minded  and  equally  broad-shouldered, 

35 


36  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

his  companions  ranged  from  prize-fighters  to  senators, 
wantons  to  duchesses.  He  was  a  splendid  player  and 
many  suggestions  have  I  received  from  him.  He  was  a 
tragedian  on  the  stage,  a  comedian  off.  I  knew  him 
for  twenty  years  and  in  all  that  time,  as  intimate  as  we 
were,  I  ahvays  addressed  him  as  **Mr.*'  McCuIIough  — 
and  it  annoyed  him  greatly. 

One  night  at  the  old  St.  James  (New  York)  bar  I 
greeted  him  with  the  usual  salutation.  He  rephed, 
"Damn  it,  my  name  is  John!"  I  answered,  "I  don't 
care  whether  it  is  or  not,  I  can't  say  it"  —  and  I  never 
did.  To  me  he  was  a  Roman  senator  and  oh,  how 
simple,  how  kind!  I  was  always  awed  when  in  his 
presence.  When  we  met  and  he  slapped  me  on  the 
back  by  way  of  comradeship  my  spine  would  open 
and  shut.  Maybe  it  was  the  vehemence  of  the  attack, 
but  I  ahvays  attributed  it  to  my  admiration  of  the 
man. 

One  noon  I  went  into  Delmonico's  after  a  long  siege 
of  poker  with  the  late  Billy  Scanlon,  actor  (and  clever 
chap  by  the  way),  Wilham  Sinn,  proprietor  of  the  Park 
Theatre,  Brooklyn,  Billy  Barry,  Henry  Watterson  and 
John  R.  Fellows,  District  Attorney  of  New  York  City. 
I  wanted  a  bracer  badly,  I  can  tell  you,  for  we  had 
participated  in  a  very  strenuous  evening.  As  we  en- 
tered, there  was  dear  old  McCuIIough  having  luncheon. 

I  stopped,  transfixed.  He  saw  me  and  beckoned  me 
to  a  seat  at  the  table.  I  was  terribly  self  conscious. 
He  said,  "Son,  have  a  drink."  I  replied,  rather  timidly, 
"No,  thank  you."  (I  was  slowly  passing  away.)  He 
continued,  "Well,  you  do  drink,  don't  you?"  "Yes," 
I  replied,  "once  in  awhile,"  "I  mean  you  get  drunk!" 
he  insisted.  I  replied  in  the  affirmative.  "Good  for 
you!  I  wouldn't  give  a  damn  for  a  man  who  didn't, 
occasionally!"  he  commented.  "Is  that  right?"  I 
queried.     "Certainly,"   he  replied.     "Well,   then,"   and 


J 


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JOHN   McCULLOUGH  37 

I  yelled  to  the  waiter,  "Give  me  an  absinthe  frappe!" 
** That's  right,  my  boy;  and,  waiter,  make  it  two,"  he 
quietly  remarked. 

We  sat  there  for  some  time  and  soon  I  forgot  all  about 
my  losses,  listening  to  his  fascinating  stories  of  Edwin 
Forrest  and  the  palmy  days. 

He  was  a  most  entertaining  man  and  my  memory 
often  returns  to  the  many  happy  hours  passed  in  the 
company  of  my  good  friend,  "Mr."  McCulIough  — 
"John"  for  short  —  and  sweet  —  now. 


^..?rr,WQ«? 


^i*OOv3«w  L 


Chapter  V 
SIR  HENRY  IRVING 


FTER  the  Dramatic  Festival  my  wife  and 
I  embarked  for  Europe.  It  was  during 
this  time  that  I  made  the  acquaintance 
of  Henry  Irving  who  was  then  managing 
successfully  the  Lyceum  Theatre  in  Lon- 
don. Irving  apparently  took  quite  a 
fancy  to  me.  He  showed  me  many  attentions  and  I 
was  the  recipient  of  many  hospitahties  at  his  hands. 

Irving  was  an  extraordinary  man  in  many  ways  and 
considering  what  nature  had  denied  him  his  achieve- 
ments were  little  short  of  marvelous.  Possessed  of  a 
voice  of  but  little  power,  utterly  lacking  in  grace,  even 
ungainly  and  awkward  in  action,  he  was  possessed  of 
that  occult  power  that  made  all  those  infirmities  sub- 
servient to  his  fine  intellect. 

I  think  that  Irving  had  a  wider  knowledge  than  any 
man  whom  I  have  ever  met  in  the  theatrical  world. 
So  much  has  been  written  by  able  writers  regarding  this 
remarkable  man's  abilities  that  anything  that  emanates 
from  me  will  seem  puerile  in  comparison. 

Irving's  humor  always  appealed  to  me,  his  sense  of  it 
ever  being  in  evidence  no  matter  how  serious  the  sur- 
roundings. His  utterances  were  subtly  humorous  and 
at  times  a  httle  cynical,  but  never  harsh,  his  gentleness 
of  dehvery  always  disguising  the  httle  cynicisms  that 
might  lurk  beneath  them. 

I  remember  lunching  with  him  one  afternoon  at  the 
Garrick   Club.     An   actor   named   Kemble   came   in,   a 

38 


SIR  HENRY   IRVING  39 

little  under  the  influence  of  the  succulent  grape,  and 
began  bewailing  the  decline  of  the  drama.  He  expa- 
tiated upon  the  downward  trend  of  the  player,  express- 
ing great  dissatisfaction  over  the  then  present  conditions 
and  his  desire  to  "chuck  it."  He  preferred  solitude, 
away  from  the  incompetency  that  he  was  forced  to 
witness.  He  would  like  to  build  a  shack  and  relieve 
himself  from  all  these  humiliating  associations  on  some 
desert  island.  Irving,  calmly  wiping  his  glasses,  looked 
at  him  for  a  moment  and  asked,  **Why  not  try  one  of 
the  Scilly  Islands?" 

Another  time  an  awful  bore,  one  Fletcher,  whom 
Irving  detested,  rushed  up  to  him  in  a  most  affectionate 
manner,  saying,  "My  dear  Harry!  whom  do  you  suppose 
I  met  in  Paris,  last  week?"  Irving  replied,  "I  have  no 
idea.  Paris  is  so  filled  with  people."  Fletcher  con- 
tinued, "I  know,  dear  Harry,  but  it  was  our  old 
friend  Graham  —  Charlie!  You  remember  him."  Irving 
grunted,  "Ah!"  Fletcher  rattled  on.  "Well,  Harry,  you 
know  we  had  not  met  for  years  and  he  accosted  me  right 
in  front  of  the  Louvre  and  placing  both  hands  upon  my 
shoulders  he  said,  'Great  God!  is  this  really  Fletcher?'" 
Irving  quietly  looked  up  and  queried,  "And  was  it?" 

We  passed  many  happy  evenings,  together  with  dear 
old  Johnny  Toole,  at  the  Beefsteak  Club.  I  look  back 
with  pleasure  upon  those  improvised  little  suppers 
Irving  used  to  bestow  upon  the  visiting  Americans  and 
his  fellow  players  upon  the  stage  of  the  Lyceum  after 
the  evening  performance.  I  have  never  seen  such 
unostentatious,  yet  lavish,  display  as  he  exercised  in 
those  delightful  hospitalities.  They  extended  far  into 
the  night  and  many  times  the  sun  was  up  as  he,  Toole 
and  I  made  the  rounds  of  the  Covent  Garden  Market 
where  the  butchers  and  fruit  venders  were  as  friendfy 
disposed  towards  him  as  were  the  guests  of  the  previous 
evening. 


40  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

I  never  knew  when  Irving  slept. 

The  last  time  we  met  was  in  his  dressing-room  at  the 
Broadway  Theatre,  New  York.  I  had  just  produced 
**A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream"  at  a  great  outlay  —  a 
new  experience  for  me  at  the  time  —  investing  a  fortune 
on  the  production  before  receiving  the  verdict  of  the 
capricious  public.  It  was  an  old  story  with  Irving. 
As  I  shook  hands  with  him  he  said,  "Ah!  Goodwin,  my 
boy,  I  see  you  are  indulging  in  a  little  Monte  Carlo 
around  the  corner."  I  answered,  **Yes,  Sir  Henry,  I 
have  a  big  bet  down  on  the  single  O."  "Well,"  said 
he,  "this  business  is  a  fascinating  gamble  no  matter 
where  the  little  ivory  ball  may  land." 

The  little  ivory  ball  proved  in  the  end  very  disap- 
pointing to  this  splendid  player  who  did  so  much  to 
dignify  our  art.  For  when  the  ball  fell  into  the  single 
"O"  Sir  Henry's  bet  was  on  the  black.  No.  23.  Had 
he  lived  he  would  have  found  it  impossible  to  indulge 
again  in  the  dissipation  of  costly  productions. 


Sir  Henry   Irving 

An  extraordiiiary  man 


Chapter  VI 
BARRY"   AND  JEFFERSON 

HE    world    delights    in  sunny   people.'* 
I  recall  many. 

Maurice  Barrymore,  actor,  play- 
wright, raconteur,  gentleman,  all-around 
athlete  and  man  of  the  world,  was  the 
most  effulgent  man  whom  I  have  ever 
met.  A  brain  that  scintillated  sparks  of  wit  that 
Charles  Lamb  or  Byron  might  envy,  a  tongue  capable 
of  lashing  into  obscurity  any  one  who  dared  enter  into 
verbal  conflict  with  him  (yet  always  merciful  to  his 
adversary),  with  the  wit  of  Douglas  Jerrold  without  the 
cynicism,  the  courage  of  a  lion,  the  gentleness  of  a 
saint  —  there  you  have  but  a  faint  conception  of  the 
qualities  of  this  child  of  Bohemia.  I  knew  him  for 
tw^enty-five  years  and  in  all  the  many  hours  that  we 
spent  together  I  never  saw  him  out  of  temper,  never 
heard  him  utter  one  unkind  expression  nor  speak  a 
cruel  word.  Even  under  the  most  trying  conditions  he 
seldom  permitted  himself  to  use  his  rapier.  And  his 
muscle  and  brawn  were  always  subordinates,  servants, 
never  masters. 

Fate  hardly  played  fair  with  Barry.  Perhaps  the 
fickle  jade  was  fearful  to  bestow  her  best  upon  one  whom 
the  gods  had  created  so  powerfully  brilhant.  She  al- 
lowed his  genius  to  run  purposelessly  upon  the  sands 
of  time  until,  jealous  of  the  admiration  which  he  won 
from  all,  she  robbed  him  of  his  chief  asset  and  hurled 
his  fine  mind  from  the  cliffs  of  reason. 

41 


42  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

I  shall  not  dwell  upon  the  passing  away  of  this  re- 
markable man  —  it  is  too  terrible  to  recall  —  but  I  shall 
give  the  world  a  few  of  his  quips  and  jibes,  showing  his 
brilhant  wit. 

He  gave  the  world  much — a  powerful  play,  "  Nadjesda," 
sunshine  and  happiness  and  a  legacy  of  three  brilliant 
children,  whom  I  knew  as  Barry's  babies,  whom  I  love 
for  their  own  and  their  father's  and  mother's  sakes  — 

Ethel,  John  and  Lionel  —  I  greet  you  all! 

Barry  came  into  the  Lambs  Club  one  evening  evi- 
dently much  distressed.  Asked  the  reason,  he  answered 
"I  am  terribly  annoyed  and  excessively  angry  at  the 
brutal  treatment  of  Mrs.  Bernard  Beere  by  the  press  of 
New  York." 

Barry  was  the  leading  man  of  Mrs.  Beere's  organiza- 
tion, the  recipient  of  three  hundred  dollars  a  week  and, 
in  the  foreshadowing  of  that  lady's  failure  in  a  rather 
risque  play,  "As  in  a  Looking  Glass,"  felt  his  engagement 
trembling  in  the  balance. 

"Brutal!"  quoth  the  loquacious  and  severe  Lackaye. 
"It  was  thoroughly  deserved!  I  was  there  and  I  never 
saw  such  an  immoral  play  in  my  life  before  a  civilized 
community!" 

"Granted,"  replied  Barrymore,  "but  why  censure  the 
lady  personally,  a  foreigner  as  well?  We  can  at  least  be 
courteous.  Only  the  offensive  theme  of  the  play  was 
dwelt  on;  no  attention  was  paid  to  her  finesse  and 
subtle  art.  That  was  all  lost,  due  to  the  huge  play- 
house in  which  we  were  forced  to  appear.  Hammer- 
stein's  was  never  intended  to  house  acting  that  requires 
such  dehcate  treatment;  it  should  be  devoted  to  opera, 
or  the  circus.  Nothing  ever  gets  beyond  the  third  of 
fourth  row." 

"Which  is  most  fortunate,"  replied  Lackaye.  "You 
punish  the  musicians,  and  save  the  remaining  rows,  the 
suffering  endured  by  those  closer  to  the  actors.     I  am 


"BARRY"  AND  JEFFERSON  43 

no  prude,  but  I  felt  the  blush  of  shame  mounting  to  my 
cheeks  as  the  terrible  and  unwholesome  dialogue  came 
over  in  chunks." 

**My  boy,"  said  Barrymore,  "you  don't  comprehend 
the  theme  of  that  play.  Dialogue  amounts  to  nothing 
when  problems  are  to  be  solved.  Maybe  the  language 
suffered  in  the  adaption  but  that  does  not  palhate  the 
offense  perpetrated  upon  the  lady  who  was  endeavoring 
to  perform  a  duty  and  teach  a  lesson  by  her  consum- 
mate art." 

**You  call  that  art,"  asked  Lackaye,  "a  wanton,- 
expounding  her  amorous  successes?  What  edification 
can  that  give?  I  tell  you,  Barrymore,  you  may  be  all 
right  in  your  argument  but  the  performance  was  simply 
nauseating,  nasty  and  suggestive.  The  whole  thing 
reeked  with  filth!" 

**I  know,"  said  Barrymore,  quickly  but  quietly,  "but 
you  fail  to  realize,  my  dear  Lackaye,  that  Hammer- 
stein's  is  a  theatre  where  one  may  be  obscene  and  not 
heard." 

Barry  was  chided  by  one  of  his  friends  for  not  going 
to  see  Sothern's  "Hamlet"  which  he  was  playing  for  the 
first  time  at  the  Garden  Theatre  with  mediocre  success. 

"Why   don't   you   go   and   witness   a   performance? 
asked  a  friend.     "Go  and  sit  out  only  one  act." 

Barrymore  rephed,  "My  boy,  I  never  encourage  vice. 

Dear  old  Frank  Mayo  who  was  passionately  fond  of 
argument,  after  exchanging  the  usual  greetings  with 
Barrymore  one  afternoon,  soon  became  engaged  in  a 
very  heated  controversy.  Mayo  would  project  an  idea 
and  before  Barrymore  could  get  breath  enough  to 
answer  would  spring  another.  Mayo  had  put  several 
vital  questions  to  Barry  to  his  own  entire  satisfaction 
and  answered  them  with  equal  satisfaction  before  Barry 
had  a  chance  even  to  offer  a  reply. 

"My   dear    Barry,"    said    Mayo;     "it   is   a   pleasure 


ft 


»> 


44  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

indeed  to  meet  a  man  of  your  calibre  —  to  interchange 
thoughts  and  ideas  with  one  so  brilliantly  gifted  as 
yourself." 

"How  do  you  know  anything  about  my  mental  capac- 
ity?" asked  Barry.  **I  never  get  any  further  with  you 
than  *Yes,  but'!" 

Barry  went  home  late,  or  rather  early,  one  Sunday 
morning  after  a  long  session  at  the  club.  He  met  his 
wife  on  the  stoop  of  their  dwelHng.  She  evidently  was 
on  her  way  to  church.  As  Barry  said  afterwards,  "She 
was  made  up  for  the  part  perfectly  and  had  a  prompt 
book  with  her."  She  simply  bowed  haughtily  and  was 
about  to  pass  on  when  he  apologized  for  being  away  all 
night,  finishing  with,  "Oh,  by  the  way,  Georgie,  dear,  I 
was  with  Geoff  Hawley  last  evening."  "Indeed,"  said 
his  wife,  "I  thought  Hawley  was  a  man!"  This  was  a 
body  blow  to  Barry  but  he  took  his  punishment  smil- 
ingly and  as  she  disappeared  down  the  steps  shouted 
after  her,  "Where  are  you  bound  for,  dearie?"  To 
which,  without  turning,  she  repHed,  "I'm  going  to  mass; 
you  can  go  to !, 

"Summer  isn't  as  bad  as  it  is  painted,"  remarked 
Barrymore  as  he  calmly  contemplated  a  landscape 
picture,  painted  by  Joseph  Jefferson,  hanging  on  the 
walls  of  the  Lambs  Club.  This  criticism  came  from 
one  who  knew  whereof  he  spoke  concerning  the  climatic 
conditions  of  the  Rialto  during  the  hot  months  when  the 
thespian  is  prone  to  talk  about  the  summer's  adversity. 
Barrj'more  was  equally  conversant  with  the  value  of 
paintings.  His  remark  fell  like  a  bomb  among  the 
sycophants  who  were  ever  ready  to  praise  even  a  chromo 
were  it  oiled  over  by  the  illustrious  player  they  were 
pleased  to  call  "The  Dean  of  the  Drama." 

The  adulation  paid  to  Jefferson's  landscape  was  but  a 
reflex  of  the  homage  paid  to  this  player  by  all  those  not 
"in  the  know." 


"BARRY"  AND  JEFFERSON  45 

Dear  old  Joseph  Jefferson  was  loved  by  all  those  who 
came  under  his  magnetic  influence.  A  dehghtful,  scin- 
tillating, keen,  old  man,  possessed  of  rare  technique, 
exquisite  repose  and  the  touch  of  a  master  (but  always 
guarded  as  to  the  manner  of  touch!).  He  touched  an 
effect  but  never  assaulted  it,  as  Mansfield  did.  Con- 
scious of  his  limitations  he  never  ventured  upon  danger- 
ous ice  and  always  left  his  auditors  wishing  that  he 
misht  have  been  endowed  with  a  more  venturesome 
spirit.  He  always  wisely  refrained  from  pioneering  upon 
original  ground,  quite  content  to  pasture  in  the  Sheridan 
and  Boucicault  downs. 

For  four  weeks  I  studied  this  man  when  I  appeared 
some  years  ago  in  an  "all  star"  cast  of  *'The  Rivals.'* 
My  associates  were  Julia  Marlowe,  William  H.  Crane, 
the  Holland  boys,  Francis  Wilson,  Fanny  Rice  and  Mrs. 
John  Drew. 

(What  a  performance  Mrs.  Drew  gave!  She  put  the 
play  in  her  gown  every  night  and  took  it  home  with  her 
and  the  management  told  me  that  her  salary  for  the 
tour  was  less  than  that  paid  to  Francis  Wilson!  My 
weekly  stipend  was  far  in  excess  of  hers  and  every  night 
after  viewing  her  performance  I  was  really  ashamed  to 
take  the  money.) 

During  that  artistic  trip  (five  dollars  a  seat  makes 
anything  artistic)  I  watched  Mr.  Jefferson  day  and  night. 
He  was  most  kind  to  me  and  attentive  (for  reasons 
which  he  afterwards  explained). 

Some  one  had  told  him  that  I  associated  with  his  sons 
a  great  deal;  consequently  I  was  not  a  desirable  person 
to  have  in  any  first  class  organization!  He  had  given 
up  all  hope  regarding  his  sons  so  he  thought  that  he 
would  have  a  try  at  my  redemption.  My  conduct  was 
so  exemplary,  however,  that  the  third  week  he  apolo- 
gized to  me  and  earnestly  begged  that  during  the  rest 
of  the  tour  I  kindly  look  after  him.     As  Willie,  Joe  and 


46  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

Tom  were  really  wielding  a  bad  influence  over  the 
artistic  congregation  I  took  the  job  and  firmly  beheve 
that  I  improved  his  morals  to  a  great  extent.  (I  tried 
to  reform  Wilson,  too,  but  met  with  failure!). 

I  watched  this  charming  man  for  days  and  parts  of 
some  nights.  I  never  missed  any  of  his  scenes  and  dur- 
ing the  performance  when  not  concerned  in  the  play  I 
was  ahvays  watching  him  from  the  entrance.  I  ab- 
sorbed his  methods  in  his  interpretation  of  Bob  Acres 
and  while  he  was  not  my  ideal  I  think  that  his  inter- 
pretation was  really  better  than  the  author  intended. 
I  used  to  shriek  with  laughter  hstening  to  his  curtain 
speeches  or,  rather,  his  curtain  speech.  Like  his  per- 
formance it  never  varied  —  ahvays  the  same,  never  a 
change,  standing  in  the  same  position,  no  altering  of 
intonation  or  gesture,  everything  given  by  rote,  but 
ahvays  with  fine  effect. 

After  those  performances,  I  would  walk  to  the  private 
car,  go  over  "The  Rivals"  as  I  had  seen  it  performed  and 
wonder  if  any  of  us,  with  the  exception  of  Mrs.  Drew, 
were  anything  Hke  the  characters  of  Sheridan's  brain. 
I  became  firmly  convinced  that  one  was  not  —  myself. 
Were  the  others?  Was  he,  "The  Dean,"  anything  like 
what  the  author  intended  Bob  Acres  to  be?  Then  I 
would  ponder  over  the  night  speech  of  the  dear  old 
gentleman,  remembering  the  homage  that  he  paid  to  the 
author,  his  reference  to  the  artistic  rendering  that  they 
were  giving  his  work,  the  extreme  pleasure  it  afforded 
him  and  his  comrades  to  have  the  privilege  of  acting 
such  a  comedy  as  this.  Then  with  a  five-dollar-trem- 
bhng  voice  he  would  bewail  the  fact  that  Sheridan  was 
not  permitted  to  view  this  wonderful  interpretation  of 
his  work.  Choking  with  sobs  that  hardly  gave  his  words 
utterance,  he  would  refer  to  past  performances  by 
lamented  actors  and  thank  the  audience  for  its  atten- 
tion.    Concluding  with  a  semi-congratulatory  reference 


3 

o 
c 

-S 

-3 
O 


4  s 


"BARRY"  AND  JEFFERSON  47 

to  its  being  permitted  to  view  this  wonderfully  artistic 
performance,  the  benign  old  gentleman  would  make  his 
bow,  deftly  wiping  away  a  tear,  amid  the  plaudits  of 
the  throng. 

After  hstening  to  all  this,  I  became  convinced  that  we 
were  artistic.  At  least  my  associates  were.  (I  was  on 
to  myself  from  the  first  night.)  They  must  have  been 
terribly  artistic.  The  sprint  from  the  theatre  to  the 
private  car,  participated  in  by  Joseph  Brooks,  the 
Jefferson  boys,  and  the  dear  old  gentleman  (with  Charles 
Jefferson  in  the  lead,  with  the  nightly  receipts),  con- 
vinced me  that  they  were!  They  would  arrive  at  the 
car  —  panting  —  and  falling  into  their  seats  prepare  to 
divide  the  artistic  spoils,  **The  Dean"  taking  fifty  per 
cent.  As  I  viewed  this  "Chimes  of  Normandy"  episode 
my  artistic  side  went  to  the  winds  and  I  knew  that  we 
were  as  commercial  as  Cohan  and  Harris  are  now. 

Then  I  began,  by  comparison,  to  study  this  man,  and 
wonder  what  he  had  accomphshed  for  the  drama.  Had 
he  built  a  playhouse,  hke  the  man  of  his  hour  and  time, 
Edwin  Booth?  Had  he  produced  any  original  plays, 
made  any  production,  or  even  leased  a  theatre,  hke 
Mansfield,  or  Sothern,  Irving,  or  Possart?  Had  he 
during  the  last  decade  created  any  characters?  An 
echo  answered  **No!"  Then  what  had  he  done  from 
the  time  of  his  association  with  Laura  Keene  (at  which 
time  he  was  considered  only  a  fair  actor  as  compared 
with  Charles  Burke,  John  E.  Owens,  Wilham  E.  Burton 
and  Wilham  Blake)  to  the  time  of  his  becoming  con- 
spicuous in  the  eyes  of  the  American  pubhc? 

Briefly,  he  returned  from  London  after  a  successful 
engagement,  having  previously  occupied  his  time  for 
three  years  in  Austraha  producing  successfully  American 
plays;  then  launched  forth  in  a  revised  edition  of  "Rip 
Van  Winkle,"  a  play  previously  performed  with  success 
by  his  half  brother,  Charles  Burke.     For  thirty  years 


48  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

or  more  he  presented  Rip  to  the  dear  American  public 
with  intermittent  changes  to  "The  Rivals,"  "Caleb 
Plummer,"  Dr.  Pangloss  in  "The  Heir  at  Law"  and 
"Lend  me  Five  ShiHings."  The  revival  of  these  latter 
plays  met  with  httle  pecuniary  success  unless  he  added 
names  to  the  cast,  featuring  conspicuously  such  artists 
as  WiHiam  Florence  or  Mrs.  John  Drew.  After  a  brief 
tour  he  would  again  drift  back  to  dear  old  Rip  and 
dear  old  scenery  with  some  of  the  dear  old  gentleman's 
dear  old  family  dominating  the  cast.  Thus  he  went 
on  for  years,  and  posterity  will  say  that  he  was  "a 
great  actor,"  "beloved  by  all." 

Yet  he  Hved  among  the  great  producers  of  his  era  — 
without  producing! 

Irving,  who  died  almost  penniless  and  who  invested 
thousands  of  dollars  in  an  earnest  endeavor  to  uphold 
the  drama,  Lawrence  Barrett  and  dear  Edwin  Booth, 
who  lost  a  milhon  in  erecting  a  temple  to  Art  only  to 
see  his  name  chiseled  out  by  a  drj'-  goods  estabHshment 
—  these  were  truly  great  men. 

I  concede  that  Joseph  Jefferson  was  "a  great  actor" 
as  Rip  —  a  most  benign  person,  a  charming  companion. 
For  this  man  I  have  the  most  profound  respect;  for 
what  he  did  for  the  stage  I  have  not.  His  performance 
of  "Rip  Van  Winkle"  was  perhaps  a  very  great  one  (I 
never  saw  Charles  Burke).  As  for  Bob  Acres,  I  can 
only  quote  a  really  great  actor,  WiHiam  Warren  — 
"Jefferson  played  Bob  in  'The  Rivals*  with  Sheridan 
twenty  miles  away." 

I  have  seen  two  men  who  are  ahve  to-day  play  Sir 
Lucius  O'Trigger  in  "The  Joseph  Jefferson  Version  of 
*The  Rivals'"  and  I  have  played  it. 

Which  leaves  me  to  imagine  that  all  those  who  made 
a  hit  in  the  part  are  dead! 


Chapter  VII 
A  SUNNY  SON  OF  SOMETIME 


SUNNY  SON  of  Sometime  was  Peter 
Dailey.  When  the  Creator  called  him 
to  join  the  merry  throng  that  had 
passed  before  the  world  lost  one  of  the 
sweetest  characters  that  I  have  ever 
a^ffy^M-T^f-WMiB   known.     His   memory  will  go  laughing 

down  the  ages. 

There  were  no  clouds  when  Pete  pranced  among  the 
men  and  women  of  the  profession.  He  met  you  with 
the  honest  grip  of  a  man  and  a  smile  that  only  the 
seraphs  can  appreciate.  Never  an  unkind  word  left  the 
brain  that  invented  only  sweet  and  wholesome  sallies. 
The  wit  of  a  Sheridan  and  a  repartee  that  made  it  an 
impertinence  to  attack  made  him  impervious  to  all 
retort.  As  gentle  as  a  fawn,  as  brave  as  a  warrior,  Pete 
Dailey  was  a  man  among  men. 

During  a  friendship  of  over  twenty-five  years  I  never 
heard  him  utter  a  profane  word  or  use  an  obscene  ex- 
pression. No  adjective  was  necessary  to  enhance  a 
story  of  his,  no  preface  to  foretell  the  trend  of  his  wit  — 
which  was  as  quick  as  the  flight  of  a  rifle  ball. 

When  he  was  on  tour  with  his  own  company  some 
years  ago  he  was  chided  for  his  familiarity  with  his 
company  by  a  German  comedian,  AI  Wilson.  Wilson 
told  him  that  he  was  losing  his  dignity  by  even  associat- 
ing with  the  members  of  his  organization,  foHowing  this 
by  saying,   **Why,   Pete,   I  do  not  even  speak  to  my 

49 


50  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

company!"  Pete  replied,  "Well,  if  I  had  a  company 
like  yours,  I  would  not  speak  to  them  either." 

It  was  useless  for  any  author  to  give  Pete  lines  to 
speak,  his  interpretations  were  so  much  better  than  any 
lines  the  author  could  invent.  I  well  remember  one  of 
the  first  nights  at  Weber  and  Field's  Music  Hall,  New 
York.  He  had  a  scene  with  Charles  Bigelow  who  had 
apparently  given  much  thought  and  study  to  his  part. 
Bigelow  was  a  bald-headed,  blatant,  obvious  comedian 
who  was  principally  engaged  to  make  children  laugh  or 
frighten  them  to  death.  They  started  in  on  the  scene 
and  after  a  few  words  of  the  text  Dailey  threw  his  lines 
to  the  winds  and  in  a  few  moments  had  Bigelow  tied 
into  knots.  Bigelow  stood  there,  hopelessly  fuzzled, 
while  the  audience  yelled  with  delight  at  his  discom- 
fiture. Finally,  enraged  and  mortified,  the  perspiration 
pouring  off  him,  he  removed  his  hat  to  mop  his  brow. 
Quick  as  a  flash  Pete  said,  **Put  your  hat  on;  you're 
naked!"  This  was  too  much  for  Bigelow  and  he  rushed 
off  the  stage. 

I  could  fill  pages  with  a  recital  of  this  man's  many 
gifts,  his  goodly  deeds.  Would  there  were  more  Pete 
Daileys!  The  world  would  be  better,  humanity  more 
gentle,  hypocrisy  unknown;  fewer  tears  would  be  shed 
and  the  journey  through  life  made  fighter. 


Chapter  VIII 


CHARLES   HOYT 

URING  the  early  '8o's  a  young  man 
jumped  into  the  theatrical  arena,  having 
previously  graduated  from  the  editorial 
rooms  of  the  Boston  "Post"  where  he 
had  achieved  some  degree  of  success  as 
a  comic  writer  and  dramatic  critic.  He 
was  a  man  of  considerable  education  with  an  absorbing 
insight  into  character.  In  this  respect  he  was  like  the 
present  George  Cohan.  But  he  had  more  refinement 
than  Cohan  and  was  more  of  a  caricaturist  than  he. 
He  had  Kttle  charm  but  possessed  a  brand  of  cynical 
humor  which  appealed  to  men,  seldom  to  women.  All 
his  characters  were  well  defined.  For  about  fifteen 
years  his  plays  were  received  with  much  favor  and  had 
he  lived  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  would  have  proved  a 
dangerous  rival  to  the  clever  Cohan.  His  name  was 
Charles  Hoyt. 

His  financial  partner,  Charles  Thomas,  was  my  seat 
mate  at  the  Little  Blue  Maine  Academy  and  it  was 
through  him  that  I  became  acquainted  with  the  versa- 
tile Hoyt.  For  whatever  charm  poor  Hoyt  lacked 
Charles  Thomas  made  amends  as  he  was  one  of  the 
handsomest  and  most  fascinating  of  men.  He  died  very 
young.  That  cruel  censor  Death  was  the  master  that 
beckoned  him  to  Phoenix,  Arizona,  where  he  passed 
away. 

Hoyt  was  noted  for  his  pungent  and  satirical  humor. 
When  in  his  cups  he  was  most  poignant  and  insulting, 

51 


52  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

never  sparing  even  his  best  friends.  One  night  in  a 
caje  adjoining  the  Bijou  Theatre  he  was  very  rude  to 
me.  I  reahzed  his  condition  and  was  silent,  but  the 
first  time  I  met  him  sober  I  demanded  an  apology, 
which  he  gave,  but  not  with  very  good  grace.  A  few 
months  later  Bert  Dasher,  one  of  his  business  friends, 
told  me  that  Hoyt  met  him  one  cold,  frosty  night  in 
January  in  front  of  the  Hoffman  House  and  after  vainly 
endeavoring  to  explain  our  quarrel  imparted  the  in- 
formation that  I  had  talked  to  him  pretty  roughly  and 
he  was  determined  to  revenge  himself.  Hoyt  had  taken 
lessons  in  the  manly  art  of  self-defense. 

"I  realize  that  Nat  is  alert  and  dangerous,"  he  told 
Bert,  "so  I  am  going  to  accost  him  unawares,  feint  him 
with  my  left  hand  and  uppercut  him  on  the  point  of 
the  Jaw."  He  accompanied  the  remark  with  a  down- 
ward swing  from  the  shoulder  to  the  knee.  The  force 
of  the  swinging  gesture  hurled  him  into  the  middle  of 
Broadway  where  he  fell  in  a  semi-conscious  state  until 
Bert  came  to  his  rescue  and  took  him  home. 

The  first  night  of  my  production  of  "Nathan  Hale" 
Hoyt  had  assured  me  of  his  intention  of  being  present 
with  his  wife.  But  when  the  time  came  she  refused  to 
accompany  him.  Charley,  having  purchased  two  tickets 
and  not  desiring  to  be  alone,  sought  someone  to  go  with 
him.  He  soon  found  a  friend  and  invited  him  to  come 
along.  Much  to  Hoyt's  astonishment  his  friend  quietly 
but  firmly  refused  the  invitation.  "Why  not?"  asked 
Hoyt.  His  friend  replied,  "I  don't  Hke  Goodwin." 
"Well,"  said  Charley,  "you  like  him  as  an  artist,  don't 
you?"  His  friend  replied,  "No,  I  don't  like  him,  on  or 
ofi"  the  stage."  "Well,"  said  Hoyt,  "come  along;  you 
are  sure  to  enjoy  this  play  for  they  hang  Nat  in  the  last 
act." 

"Have  you  any  idea  what  the  price  of  American 
beauties  is?"  asked  a  friend  of  Hoyt's  one  day,  referring 


CHARLES  HOYT  53 

to  the  exorbitant  charges  of  the  florists.     **I  ought  to" 
answered  the  witty  Hoyt,  *'I  married  one." 

Years  after  I  indulged  in  flowery  dissipation  for  I 
married  a  bunch  and  yet  there  are  some  curious  crea- 
tures who  wondered  why  I  was  appearing  in  vaudeville 
while  Hoyt  was  playing  a  harp. 


Chapter  IX 
SIR  CHARLES  WYNDHAM 


IR  CHARLES  WYNDHAM  is  a  remark- 
able man  in  many  ways,  a  delightful 
actor,  a  splendid  manager  and  a  most 
sagacious  business  man.  Of  prepossess- 
ing appearance,  he  is  further  blessed 
with  a  slight  figure  which  he  keeps  even 
after  passing  the  age  of  seventy.  He  still  manages  to 
win  approval  in  jeune  premiere  roles  in  spite  of  a  most 
disagreeable,  rasping  voice.  He  is  ably  assisted,  artis- 
tically and  managerially,  by  Miss  Mary  Moore.  He 
has  won  a  place  on  the  English  stage  second  to  none. 
What  a  blessing  to  win  fame  on  the  English  stage! 
No  impertinent  references  to  one's  age;  no  vulgar  in- 
ferences concerning  the  social  position  of  any  player! 
How  like  our  own  delightfully  free  country!  (It's  so 
different.) 

One  afternoon  at  the  Green  Room  Club  while  actors  of 
renown  and  some  Just  budding  were  seated  at  the  long 
table  enjoying  the  "two  and  six"  dinner,  Sir  Charles 
came  in.  He  had  just  finished  his  matinee  performance 
of  "David  Garrick"  with  which  he  was  packing  the 
Criterion  Theatre.  They  have  a  chair  in  the  club,  sup- 
posed to  have  been  the  property  of  Garrick.  Wyndham 
sank  into  it,  seemingly  overcome  by  his  efforts  of  the 
afternoon.  (Many  of  the  poor  devils  dining  would 
have  liked  to  share  his  exhaustion.) 

A  very  clever  dramatist  named  Hamilton,  looking  up, 
caught  sight  of  him  and  in  a  quizzical  tone  remarked, 

54 


Sir  Charles  Wvndham 
A  remarkable  man 


i 


SIR  CHARLES  WYNDHAM  S5 

"Wyndham,  you  make  rather  a  fetching  picture,  sitting 
in  the  original  Garrick  Chair  —  and,  what  is  most  re- 
markable, you  are  absolutely  playing  the  character!" 

Wyndham  nodded  back  a  mumbling  and  patronizing 
answer,  evidently  pleased  with  the  interest  that  he  was 
creating. 

Hamilton  studied  his  victim  a  moment  and  then  said, 
**By  Jove,  Wyndham,  do  you  know,  you  are  more  and 
more  like  Garrick  every  day  and  less  and  less  like  him 
every  night!" 


Chapter  X 


CHARLES  R.  THORNE,  Jr. 

HAT  an  extraordinary,  complex  creature 
was  Charles  R.  Thorne,  Jr. 

Beginning  a  stage  career  under  the 
management  of  his  father,  an  actor  of 
considerable  repute  in  the  '40's,  young 
Charlie  soon  developed  into  a  leading 
actor  of  the  old  school,  a  ranting,  vigorous  player, 
declamatory  and  thoroughly  devoid  of  repose.  He 
gradually  drifted  from  Cahfornia  to  the  East  and  during 
the  '6o's  became  the  leading  man  of  the  then  well 
known  Boston  Theatre  Stock  Company.  There  he  re- 
mained for  several  seasons  supporting  all  the  leading 
players  then  starring  throughout  the  United  States,  in- 
cluding such  celebrated  artists  as  Edwin  Forrest,  Edwin 
Booth,  Lawrence  Barrett,  Charlotte  Cushman,  Lotta, 
Edwin  Adams  and  many  others. 

Of  an  extremely  jovial  disposition,  never  dissipated 
but  fond  of  company,  naturally  witty  and  an  extremely 
courageous  man,  he  soon  worked  himself  into  the  hearts 
of  the  Boston  public.  He  was  not  particularly  versatile, 
but  had  a  splendid  personality  and  a  magnificent  phy- 
sique —  marred  only  by  a  head  too  small  for  the  quahty 
of  intelligence  such  a  figure  demanded.  However,  he 
was  a  royal  picture  to  contemplate,  particularly  in 
romantic  and  Shakespearean  roles.  In  these  he  truly 
suggested  the  "Greek  god."  He  gave  his  professional 
work  little  thought  and  was  quite  content  to  bask  in  the 

sunshine  of  the  encomiums  of  press  and  friends  until 

56 


CHARLES  R.  THORNE,  Jr.  ^7 

Dion  Boucicault  discovered  latent  talents  which  even 
Thorne  himself  did  not  know  he  possessed. 

Boucicault  was  about  to  produce  one  of  his  plays, 
"Led  Astray,"  at  the  Union  Square  Theatre,  New  York, 
and  selected  Thorne  to  create  the  leading  role.  Taking 
him  under  his  wing  for  a  few  months  he  succeeded  in 
transforming  the  man.  Under  his  able  tutelage  Thorne, 
discarding  his  ranting  and  mouthing  methods,  awoke  the 
morning  after  the  premiere  of  "Led  Astray"  to  find  him- 
self famous.  He  became  founder  of  the  modern  school 
of  suppressed,  natural  acting  and  the  most  convincing 
actor  of  the  American  stage.  • 

He  was  not  a  man  easily  handled  and  had  no  respect 
for  the  rules  and  regulations  of  any  theatre.  He  was 
in  constant  difficulties  with  A.  M.  Palmer,  manager  of 
the  Union  Square,  but  Palmer  reahzed  Thome's  value 
and  put  up  with  many  annoyances  from  him.  Thorne 
held  despotic  sway,  much  to  the  amusement  of  his 
companion  players  who  loved  him  as  they  loathed  the 
management.  Palmer  exercised  every  means  within 
his  power  to  humiUate  Thorne,  casting  him  for  leading 
heavies  for  instance,  but  Thome's  convincing  methods 
always  made  the  hero  look  ridiculous.  In  the  play 
"False  Shame,"  in  which  he  was  cast  for  the  villain,  he 
took  all  the  sympathy  from  the  hero  and  of  course 
killed  the  property. 

Palmer  brought  over  the  late  Charles  Coghlan  at  a 
salary  of  $1,000  a  week  —  Thome's  salary  had  never 
gone  beyond  $125!  —  and  cast  them  both  to  create 
simultaneously  the  leading  role  in  "A  Celebrated  Case," 
giving  Coghlan  the  quodus  of  the  New  York  and  Thorne 
the  Pittsburgh  opening.  I  saw  Coghlan's  opening.  He 
gave  a  marvelously  thoughtout  performance  and  made 
a  tremendous  hit.  I  saw  Thorne  some  weeks  after  and 
told  him  of  my  impressions. 

I  remarked,   "Charlie,   I  think  that  Palmer  has  got 


58  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

you  at  last.*'  He  observed,  "Yes,  I  hear  that  that  chap 
Coghlan  is  an  actor.  I  am  up  the  spout  as  Palmer 
intends  playing  me  at  the  Grand  Opera  House  in  two 
weeks  and  I  guess  the  boys  will  get  me  as  that  Enghsh 
fellow  has  had  the  first  whack  at  them  and  they  will 
have  the  chance  to  compare  us  in  the  same  role."  I 
said,  **WeII,  I  am  going  in  front  to-night  and  I  will  tell 
you  what  I  think."  Before  leaving  his  dressing-room  I 
added,  "Charlie,  if  you  take  my  advice  you  won't  go  to 
New  York.  Be  ill,  and  let  your  understudy  go  on." 
He  laughed  and,  waving  his  hand,  cried,  "All  right, 
sonny  boy,  I  may  take  your  advice!" 

I  went  in  front  and  after  the  performance  I  rushed 
back  into  his  dressing-room  and  yelled,  "For  God's 
sake,  don't  get  ill!  Get  to  New  York  as  soon  as 
possible!" 

I  had  never  seen  such  a  performance!  While  you 
admired  Coghlan's  technique  and  art,  Thorne  gave  you 
no  time  to  think  of  anything  —  he  was  so  real,  so  con- 
vincing. He  drowned  all  judgment  with  the  tears  his 
acting  started.     You  simply  sobbed  your  heart  out. 

In  a  few  weeks  Thorne  went  to  New  York  and 
amazed  the  public.  In  a  short  time  Coghlan's  name 
headed  the  road  company  and  Thorne  was  snugly 
housed  again  at  the  Union  Square  Theatre  where  he 
remained  a  Czar  for  many  years,  until  John  Stetson 
engaged  him  to  star  in  "Monte  Cristo,"  a  play  made 
famous  by  the  French  actor,  Charles  Fechter.  He 
opened  at  Booth's  Theatre  to  a  $3,500  house.  The 
streets  were  packed  for  blocks  by  a  swaying,  eager 
multitude  ready  to  pay  homage  to  an  actor  who  for 
twenty  years  had  been  their  idol  and  whose  salary  was 
never  more  than  I150  a  week  at  any  time. 

He  was  very  ill  on  the  opening  night  —  in  fact  he  was 
dying  on  the  stage  before  his  beloved  public,  but  no 
one  knew  it.     The  fact  that  his  performance  was  most 


CHARLES  R.  THORNE,  Jr.  59 

unsatisfactory  gave  no  one  an  inkling  of  the  truth. 
He  was  driven  home  after  the  play,  and  never  appeared 
again,  dying  in  a  few  weeks.  Just  as  power  was  within 
his  grasp,  they  rang  the  curtain  down  and  poor  Thome's 
soul  passed  into  the  great  beyond. 

All  of  the  Thorne  family  were  possessed  of  a  wonder- 
ful sense  of  humor.  I,  as  I  have  said,  knew  them  all  — 
Charles,  William  and  Edwin  and  their  father  and  mother. 
Many  happy  evenings  have  I  passed  with  this  dehghtful 
family.  They  were  truly,  to  quote  from  Dumas'  "Three 
Guardsmen,"  "One  for  all,  and  all  for  one!"  Charles 
had  a  much  keener  sense  of  the  ridiculous  than  the 
others  and  he  would  exercise  it  even  in  a  serious  scene, 
if  for  no  other  reason  than  to  break  up  the  players. 

One  day  at  the  old  Niblo's  Garden  in  New  York, 
Charlie  came  to  play  a  two  weeks'  starring  engagement 
for  his  father  who  was  at  that  time  the  lessee  of  the 
theatre.  I  was  a  member  of  the  company  playing 
general  utility.  Business  was  very,  very  bad  and  the 
advent  of  Charles  did  not  enhance  the  exchequer  of  the 
theatre.  We  were  playing  a  Scotch  drama,  "Roderick 
Dhu."  Charles  and  his  father  had  a  powerful  scene, 
ending  an  act.  The  old  gentleman  spoke  the  tag,  saying 
to  Charhe,  "If  you  are  King  James  of  Scotland,  I  am 
Roderick  Dhu!"  Before  the  curtain  fell  upon  the  line 
Charlie,  who  had  bribed  the  prompter  to  delay  its 
coming  down  on  the  direct  cue,  took  out  a  large  docu- 
ment and  said,  "Yes,  Mr.  Thorne,  and  your  rent  is  due." 

When  the  curtain  fell  the  old  man  chased  his  son  out 
of  the  theatre  and  in  a  fit  of  passion  swore  he  would  not 
allow  the  play  to  continue.  Charles  came  back,  apolo- 
gized and  the  play  proceeded. 

Boucicault  took  him  and  Stuart  Robson  to  London  to 
play  in  "  Led  Astray."  Charlie  made  a  great  hit  and  poor 
Rob  a  dire  failure.  Robson's  failure  Charlie  took  to 
heart  as  his  love  for  Rob  was  unbounded.     After  about 


6o  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

six  weeks  three  gentlemen,  the  proprietors  of  the  Drury 
Lane  and  Covent  Garden  theatres,  called  on  Thome 
and  Robson  at  their  chambers  with  a  proposition  to 
Thome  for  a  long  engagement.  He  listened  to  their 
patronizing  suggestions  as  to  a  consummation  of  the 
deal  and,  pointing  to  Rob,  asked,  "Is  my  pal  included 
in  this?*'  When  told  that  their  business  was  with  him 
solely  he  cried,  "Out  upon  ye  for  arrant  knaves!  I'll 
not  play  at  Dreary's  Lane  nor  at  Covey's  Garden  either!'* 
They  thought  he  was  mad  and  quickly  withdrew. 


Charles  R.  Thorne,  Jr. 

A  royal  picture  to  contemplate 


Chapter  XI 
SOL  SMITH   RUSSELL 


HAT  a  dear,  delightful  humbug  was  Sol 
Smith  Russell.  By  humbug  I  mean 
nothing  disparaging  for  Sol  was  one  of 
the  sweetest  natures  I  have  ever  met. 
But  he  was  a  most  eccentric  person,  a 
combination  of  good  and  a  tiny  bit  of 
bad,  with  the  aspect  of  a  preacher  and  the  inclination 
of  a  beau  and  man  about  town.  If  Sol  had  had  the 
moral  courage  I  am  sure  he  would  have  turned  out  a 
roue.  He  worshipped  the  beautiful,  particularly  in 
woman,  was  passionately  fond  of  gambhng  and  loved  the 
cup  that  soothes  and  comforts.  Yet  he  indulged  his 
foibles  only  in  solitude.  Very  few  knew  the  real  man. 
There  was  nothing  vicious  in  his  nature.  He  was 
merely  alert,  artistically  inclined.  He  was  a  genius  in 
his  quiet  and  inoffensive  dissipation.  Of  a  frugal  turn 
of  mind,  he  became  commercial  when  he  loosed  his 
mental  bridle  and  gave  himself  his  head. 

Tommy  Boylan  of  Guy's  Hotel,  Baltimore,  told  me 
that  Sol,  evidently  contemplating  a  slight  debauch, 
asked  him  in  his  bland  way  the  price  of  gin  cocktails. 
Tommy  replied,  "Fifteen  cents  per."  "How  much  a 
dozen?"  asked  SoL  "To  you,"  answered  Tommy, 
"ten  cents."  "Two  dozen  to  my  room,  please,"  said 
Sol.  At  the  door  he  turned  and  added,  "By  the  way, 
Tommy,  ten  per  cent  off  for  cash  and  thus  enable  me  to 
reimburse  the  bell  boy.  And,  Tommy,  be  sure  and 
have  them  made  separately  and  send  six  at  a  time 
when  I  ring  the  bell." 

6i 


62  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

In  this  way  Sol  would  have  his  little  spree  with  only 
his  mirror  for  a  companion  and  emerge  the  next  day 
spick  and  span  with  two  bottles  of  an  aperient  water 
added  to  his  account.  By  noon  he  would  be  found 
officiating  at  some  church  function  or  passing  tea  at 
some  lady's  seminary. 

I  never  considered  Sol  a  very  great  actor  on  the 
stage  —  but  a  marvel  off.  He  was  a  splendid  enter- 
tainer and  sketch  artist,  but  he  had  higher  ambitions. 
His  greatest  was  to  wear  the  mantle  of  Jefferson  whom 
he  worshipped. 

We  three  were  supping  one  night  at  the  Richelieu 
Hotel,  Chicago.  Jefferson  had  previously  suggested  to 
me  the  idea  of  my  playing  Doctor  Pangloss  in  "The  Heir 
at  Law,"  endeavoring  to  point  out  the  many  benefits 
I  would  bestow  by  appearing  in  that  character.  I 
listened  with  much  respect  but  refused,  knowing  how 
old  fashioned  were  both  the  play  and  role.  Sol,  how- 
ever, was  not  proof  against  the  clever  old  gentleman's 
blandishments  and  fell  for  the  suggestion.  The  fact  of 
appearing  in  any  character  made  famous  by  the  astute 
old  fox  was  enough  for  the  guileless  Sol.  I  knew  Jeffer- 
son wanted  some  one  to  play  the  part  only  to  court 
comparisons.  To  prove  his  interest  in  Sol's  future, 
Jefferson  presented  him  with  his  entire  wardrobe,  even 
to  the  shoes  and  awful  wig.  Sol  was  defighted  at  the 
prospect  and  accepted  them  readily.  When  told  of  this 
at  the  supper  that  evening,  I  turned  to  Sol  and  said, 
"Well,  the  press  has  been  hurling  Mr.  Jefferson's  mantle 
at  me  for  years,  but  you  have  undressed  him.  I  guess 
I'll  have  to  wear  my  own." 

Jefferson  seemed  to  enjoy  the  sally  but  I'm  afraid 
Sol  failed  to  appreciate  my  remarks  or  gather  my 
meaning.  It  would  have  been  better  for  him  if  he  had, 
for  later  he  produced  the  play  and  met  with  instant 
failure. 


SOL  SMITH   RUSSELL  63 

While  touring  in  the  all  star  cast  of  "The  Rivals*'  I 
called  on  an  old  and  esteemed  friend  of  mine  at  Chicago 
—  the  bar  keeper  at  the  Grand  Pacific  Hotel  —  who 
informed  me  that  my  friend  Sol  Smith  Russell  and  he 
had  spent  a  most  enjoyable  evening  the  night  before. 
Sol  had  left  him  at  about  two  a.  m.  saying  he  was 
looking  forward  to  our  appearing  in  "The  Rivals"  with 
joyous  anticipation.  I  asked  about  SoFs  health  and 
capacity.  The  bar  keeper  replied,  "He's  fine.  I  have 
his  tabs  for  sixty  dollars."  I  gasped,  "Not  cocktails!" 
He  rephed,  "No,  pints." 

The  next  afternoon  at  the  matinee  after  the  first  act 
Sol's  card  came  up  to  Mr.  Jefferson's  dressing-room 
(w^hich  I  shared  on  tour).  Of  course  he  was  admitted 
at  once.  Not  appearing  in  the  first  act,  I  was  preparing 
the  finishing  touches  to  my  make-up  in  a  remote  corner 
of  the  room  and  was  not  seen  by  Sol.  He  rushed  over 
to  Jefferson  who  warmly  greeted  him.  Sol  was  most 
enthusiastic  over  the  performance  of  the  first  act. 
Standing  in  the  center  of  the  room,  safely  braced  by  both 
hands  on  a  massive  oak  table  he  gushed  forth  as  follows  : 

"My  dear  Joseph,  I  have  never  seen  such  acting,  such 
art.  Surely  Sheridan  in  his  grave  must  appreciate  such 
artistic  values  as  are  being  dealt  w^ith  this  afternoon, 
such  — " 

Then  came  a  long  pause  and  his  eyes  closed  as  if  he 
were  in  deep  meditation  —  I  knew  it  w^as  a  hold  over  — 
then  his  lids  started  open  and  he  gathered  up  the  thread 
of  his  complimentary  effusion:  — 

"Such  superb  treatment,  delicacy,  subtlety,  and—" 
again  a  pause  and  the  same  closing  of  the  eyes,  the 
awakening  and  continuation :  — 

"Your  work  is  a  revelation  and  great  object  lesson  to 
the  students  of  the  drama,  the  comminghng  of  the  older 
and  younger  elements  only  lends  a  charm  to  the  works 
of  the  grand  master  and," 


64  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

Again  the  pause,  and  on  his  awakening  after  this  last 
standing  siesta,  he  discovered  my  presence. 

*'Ah,  Nattie,  I  hear  splendid  reports  of  your  Sir 
Lucius  O'Trigger." 

I  inquired  from  whom  as  I  had  been  kept  in  ignorance 
of  any.     He  said  from  every  one. 

*'And  now,  my  good  friend,"  said  Sol,  addressing 
Jefferson,  **I  must  leave  you  as  I  don't  want  to  miss 
Nat's  first  scene,  the  opening  of  the  second  act." 

Bowing,  he  made  his  exit,  his  left  hand  deftly  placed 
upon  the  wall  of  the  room  as  he  guided  himself  in  a 
somewhat  circuitous  way  to  the  door.  As  he  was  bent 
directly  opposite,  I  went  to  his  assistance  and  led  him 
outside,  detecting  a  shght  odor  of  what  seemed  to  me 
gin  fizzes.  I  bade  him  adieu  and  returned  to  my  dress- 
ing table.     Jefferson  appeared  much  gratified. 

*'SoI  is  awfully  pleased  apparently  and  was  most 
gracious,"  he  said.  I  answered,  "Yes,  for  a  tired  man, 
Sol  spoke  remarkably  well."  Jefferson,  who  was  very 
literal,  asked,  **Is  Sol  tired?"  I  repHed,  **He  ought  to 
be  with  that  load  he  is  carrying." 

Said  Jefferson,  "What  load  is  he  carrying?" 

"A  basket  of  lovely  peaches,"  quoth  I. 

"I  didn't  notice  he  had  a  parcel  with  him,"  replied 
Jefferson. 

"He  is  tanked  up  to  the  collar  button,"  I  said. 
"Oh,  what  a  lovely  skate  he  has!" 

"Tanked  up  to  the  collar  button  and  skate?  What 
the  devil  are  you  talking  about.  You  have  a  vernacu- 
lar, my  dear  Nat,  that  requires  translation.  What  are 
you  talking  about?" 

"Didn't  you  notice  his  condition?"  I  asked.  "He's 
loaded  to  the  eyebrows." 

"Tight?"  asked  Jefferson. 

"As  a  new  drum,"  I  replied. 

"I    can't   realize   it,"   said   Jefferson.     "My   eyesight 


SOL  SMITH   RUSSELL  6s 

prevented  my  scanning  his  face  as  accurately  as  I  could 
wish.  I  noticed  his  conversation  was  a  bit  measured, 
but  very  well  expressed.  I  can't  believe  he  was  under 
the  influence  of  Kquor.     Are  you  sure?" 

I  replied  with  much  pride  in  my  dehvery,  "You  can't 
deceive  an  artist." 

Jefferson  simply  screamed  at  this  remark  and  during 
the  afternoon  repeated  the  incident  several  times  to 
each  and  every  member  of  the  company.  It  met  with 
so  much  favor  and  seemed  to  amuse  the  people  to  such 
an  extent  that  for  several  years,  by  imitating  both  Sol 
and  Jeff'erson,  I  made  it  one  of  the  best  stories  of  my 
repertoire. 

I  once  told  the  story  to  a  number  of  actors  at  the 
Green  Room  Club  in  London.  At  the  finish,  *'You 
can't  deceive  an  artist,"  it  failed  to  provoke  the  laughter 
it  ahvays  aroused  in  America  and  I  thought  I  noticed  a 
look  of  blank  amazement  on  my  auditors'  faces.  I 
paid  no  attention  to  it  at  the  time,  attributing  their 
lack  of  appreciation  to  their  density  or  their  limited 
acquaintance  with  the  mannerism  of  the  gentlemen 
I  was  imitating.  Three  weeks  later  Fred  Terry  met  me  on 
the  Strand  and  with  much  gravity  apologized  for  the  silent 
manner  his  confreres  at  the  club  had  received  my  story. 

"My  dear  Nat,"  said  Terry,  "the  lads  entirely  mis- 
took your  meaning.  They  thought  you  were  putting 
on  a  lot  of  side  and  when  you  pointed  to  yourself  with 
that  egotistical  gesture  and  proclaimed  yourself  an 
artist,  they  thought  it  in  exceedingly  bad  taste.  I  have 
been  all  this  time  taking  each  one  aside  and  telling 
him  that  was  not  your  meaning  at  all;  that  you  were 
a  very  modest  man  for  an  American.  You  were  simply 
tefling  your  superior  officer  what  a  drunkard  you  were. 
Now  they  thoroughly  understand  the  story  and  won't 
you  please  come  to-night  and  tell  the  story  over  again?" 

Which  request  I  poHtely  but  firmly  refused. 


66  _  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

The  last  time  I  saw  poor  Sol  was  at  a  luncheon  at 
the  home  of  the  late  Stillson  Hutchins  given  in  our 
joint  honor  at  Washington.  Now  both  are  gone.  God 
bless  their  memory.     Adieu,  good  friends. 

A  few  nights  after  telling  this  story,  I  was  relating  the 
incident  to  Beerbohm  Tree  at  a  supper  party.  He 
agreed  with  me  as  to  the  density  of  the  average  Britisher 
so  far  as  appreciating  American  humor  is  concerned. 
He  told  me  he  understood  it  thoroughly.  As  the  supper 
progressed  we  were  entertained  by  song  and  story,  con- 
tributed by  the  guests.  In  my  turn  I  told  of  an  incident 
that  happened  in  Denver. 

I  had  come  in  from  one  of  the  clubs  very  late  and 
directed  the  clerk  at  the  hotel  to  call  me  at  5  a.  m. 
sharp,  impressing  upon  him  that  I  was  a  very  heavy 
sleeper.  Having  only  a  few  hours  to  rest  I  wanted  him 
to  be  sure  to  rap  on  the  door  as  loudly  as  possible  and 
not  go  away  until  he  heard  a  response  from  me.  It 
was  vital  I  make  the  train  for  Leadville  and  it  left  at 
6  o'clock. 

An  Irish  porter  standing  near  overheard  my  instruc- 
tions and  volunteered  to  assume  the  responsibility  of 
awakening  me  on  time.  I  handed  him  a  dollar  and 
retired  to  my  room,  a  cold,  bleak  apartment,  and  was 
soon  asleep  between  the  icy  sheets.  It  seemed  but  a 
few  minutes  until  I  was  awakened  by  a  most  violent 
knocking  on  my  door.     I  shouted,  "What's  the  matter?" 

"Are  yez  the  man  that  left  the  call  for  the  five 
o'clock  train?"     I  answered,  "Yes." 

"Well,"  came  the  reply  from  outside,  "go  back  to 
sleep.     Your  train's  gone." 

Several  of  the  guests  laughed  loudly.  Tree,  however, 
looked  blank  and  ejaculated,  "The  silly  man  should 
have  been  discharged  for  incompetency." 

I  hurriedly  left  the  party  and  told  no  more  stories 
that  summer. 


Chapter  XII 
RICHARD  MANSFIELD 


Ml 
■  ^ 

P|l!ltiTipTfi*iFtri!ii| 

i 

AD  I  known  as  much  then  as  I  do 
now  or  had  my  youthful  obduracy  been 
less  pronounced  the  sudden  rise  to 
heights  of  fame  which  marked  Richard 
Mansfield's  career  might  never  have 
happened  —  in  any  event  it  would  have 
been  postponed. 

It  was  while  I  was  rehearsing  in  "The  Black  Flag,"  a 
melodrama  which  won  much  success  later,  that  a  gifted 
journalist,  A.  R.  Cazauran,  who  was  then  acting  in  the 
capacity  of  play  reader,  adapter  and  general  factotum 
for  Shook  and  Palmer,  the  lessees  of  the  Union  Square 
Theatre,  came  to  see  me.  After  watching  the  rehearsal 
Cazauran  decided  that  I  was  sacrificing  my  time  and 
talent  with  "such  drivel  as  'The  Black  Flag.'  "  When 
the  rehearsal  was  finished  he  insisted  upon  my  ac- 
companying him  to  Mr.  Palmer's  office,  as  he  had 
something  of  great  importance  to  communicate  to 
me.  After  seating  ourselves  at  Mr.  Pahner's  desk,  he 
said, 

"Goodwin,  I  am  now  going  to  give  you  the  oppor- 
tunity of  your  life.  We  are  going  to  produce  a  play 
called  'A  Parisian  Romance.'  J.  H.  Stoddard  has  been 
rehearsing  the  part  of  the  Baron,  but  he  has  decided  not 
to  play  it,  feeling  that  he  does  not  suit  the  character." 
Cazauran  then  continued  in  his  delightfully  broken 
English  that  that  was  the  part  he  had  in  mind  for  me 
and   it   would   suit   me   "down   to   the   ground."     The 

67 


68  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

character  of  Baron  Chevreal  was  that  of  a  man  of  middle 
age;  but  a  young  man,  with  virility,  was  necessary 
to  act  the  death  scene  which  required  tremendous  force. 
He  brought  out  the  manuscript  and  read  me  the  entire 
play.     When  he  had  finished,  I  said, 

"For  the  love  of  heaven,  Cazauran,  why  did  you 
select  me  to  play  that  grewsome  tragedy  role?" 

"Because  I  think  you  can  play  it,"  he  replied. 

I  was  dumbfounded.  "Why,  I  am  a  comedian,  and 
it  looks  to  me  as  though  that  part  were  made  to  order 
for  Stoddard." 

Cazauran  shrugged  his  shoulders  and,  placing  both 
hands  on  mine,  observed  in  a  most  impressive  manner: 

"Goodwin,  you  are  a  comedian  and,  I  grant,  a  fine 
one.  So  was  Garrick,  but  no  one  remembers  Garrick  in 
comedy." 

How  true  that  was,  and  how  often  that  expression 
has  come  back  to  me  in  after  fife!  They  seldom  remem- 
ber those  who  make  them  laugh. 

"You  accept  this  part  of  the  Baron,"  Cazauran  con- 
tinued, **give  me  three  hours  of  your  time  each  day  for 
three  weeks  and  I  will  guarantee  that  you  will  never 
play  a  comedy  part  again.  I  and  the  Baron  will  make 
you  famous." 

I  sincerely  thanked  him,  but  firmly  declined  to  be 
made  famous  in  that  particular  fine.  We  adjourned  to 
his  favorite  restaurant,  Solari's,  in  University  Place, 
where  for  three  hours  he  endeavored  to  persuade  me  to 
play  the  part.  I  was  obdurate  and  would  not  Ksten  to 
any  of  his  suggestions. 

"Well,"  he  said  at  parting,  "Stoddard  cannot  and  will 
not  play  the  part  and  I  have  resolved  to  try  a  young 
man  we  have  in  our  company,  selected  from  the  Stand- 
ard Theatre  Company,  where  he  was  playing  in  a 
comic  opera  'The  Black  Cloak.'  He  is  now  rehearsing 
the  part  of  the  ambassador  in   'A    Parisian   Romance.' 


RICHARD   MANSFIELD  69 

He  shall  play  the  Baron.  He  is  intelligent,  knows 
French  and  I  am  convinced  that  I  can  coach  him  into 
a  success." 

In  four  weeks  from  that  time  the  young  man  who  was 
taken  from  the  ranks  to  play  the  Baron  awoke  to  find 
himself  famous.     His  name  was  Richard  Mansfield. 

Philosophy,  Thou  Liest! 

One  night  several  years  ago  at  the  Garrick  Ckib  in 
London,  Joseph  Knight  and  I  were  discussing  the  Ameri- 
can invasion  of  England  by  American  artists.  During 
the  course  of  our  conversation.  Knight  said :  — 

"My  ^dear  Goodwin,  we  had  an  extraordinary  chap 
over  here  from  your  country  some  years  ago.  I  can't 
recall  him  by  name,  but  he  was  a  most  uncomfortable 
person  to  meet  and  an  awful  actor!  He  endeavored  to 
play  Richard  the  HI  and  gave  an  awful  performance! 
He  followed  this  with  a  play,  written  by  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson  in  which  he  scratched  the  carpet  and  was 
somebody  else!  He  was  a  boss-eyed  chap,  spoke  several 
languages  and  was  remarkably  adept  at  the  piano.  I 
can't  for  the  life  of  me  recall  his  name." 

From  Knight's  description  I  knew  that  he  meant 
Mansfield  and  ventured  to  suggest  that  that  might  be 
the  man  to  whom  he  referred. 

"Mansfield!  Yes,  that's  the  chap!  Is  he  still  going 
strong  in  America?" 

"Going  strong!"  I  replied.  "Why,  he  makes  more 
m_oney  than  all  of  us  combined.  He  is  called  America's 
greatest  player!" 

"Really!"  exclaimed  the  illustrious  Knight.  "What  an 
extraordinary  country!" 

Mr.  Knight  unconsciously  echoed  my  sentiments. 
We  are  an  extraordinary  people. 

Think  —  and  be  called  a  fooL  'Tis  better  to  reafizc 
a  fact  than  agree  with  the  majority. 

Only  a  few  wxeks  ago  I  was  reading  a  biograph}^  of 


70  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

the  late  Mr.  Mansfield,  written  by  one  of  his  managers; 
another,  by  a  notorious  critic;  and,  believe  me,  Ed- 
mund Kean's  biographers  were  amateurs  compared  with 
Mansfield's  in  their  shamelessly  abject  adulation  of  that 
"genius."  The  fulsome  flattery  of  the  senile,  under- 
sized critic  who  pens  his  truckling  screeds  at  so  much 
a  column  (but  never  again  in  the  paper  from  which  he 
w^as  dropped)  and  has  been  doing  so  to  my  certain 
knowledge  for  over  thirty  years,  is  but  the  vaporing  of 
his  infinitesimal  soul. 

For  years  this  critic  held  the  position  of  reviewer  on 
one  of  the  leading  New  York  daily  papers  and  was  the 
recipient  of  a  stipulated  salary  from  the  late  Augustin 
Daly.  He  was  also  on  the  payroll  of  many  of  the  suc- 
cessful stars  of  America  and  the  recipient  of  many 
bounties  at  their  hands.  Thirty  years  ago  I  was  stand- 
ing in  the  lobby  of  the  Tremont  House  in  Boston  talking 
with  John  McCuIIough,  **the  noblest  Roman  of  them 
all,"  when  this  drunken  critic,  an  "authority"  on  plays 
and  players,  reeled  into  our  presence  and  in  a  thick 
voice  asked  John  the  number  of  his  room.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  look  of  disgust  which  McCuIIough  bestowed 
upon  this  leech  of  the  drama.  As  he  shuffled  to  the 
elevator,  mumbling  incoherently,  McCuIIough  turned  to 
Billy  Conners,  his  manager,  and  in  stentorian  tones 
that  could  be  heard  a  block  away  cried,  "For  God's 
sake,  Billy  how  long  am  I  be  to  annoyed  by  this 
drunken  incubus?" 

Years  after  this  same  critic  came  to  my  opening  per- 
formance of  "The  Merchant  of  Venice"  at  the  Knicker- 
bocker Theatre,  in  New  York,  long  after  the  curtain  had 
been  up.  In  fact  my  first  scene  was  finished  before  he 
staggered  down  the  center  aisle  to  criticise  my  eff'orts. 
I  knew  that  he  contemplated  treating  me  severely, 
irrespective  of  what  I  might  be  able  to  achieve.  He 
.did   not   consider  it  worthy  of  his   attention  and   left 


RICHARD  MANSFIELD  71 

before  the  play  was  finished.  The  following  morning 
his  "criticism"  appeared,  containing  over  two  columns 
of  vituperative  abuse  of  my  work,  deservedly,  no  doubt; 
but  as  the  paper  went  to  press  at  eleven  thirty  and  our 
performance  was  finished  precisely  at  that  hour  I 
wondered  how  so  beautifully  a  worded  review  could 
have  been  composed  or  even  dictated  in  so  short  a 
time.  The  article  was  evidently  inspired  by  an  im- 
aginary production  which  he  was  privileged  to  witness 
before  it  was  seen  or  heard. 

Yet  this  man's  adulation  of  Mansfield,  patently  writ- 
ten at  so  much  a  line,  will  be  handed  down  to  posterity 
and  be  befieved  and  respected  by  the  multitude!  Truly, 
"What  fools  these  mortals  be!" 

Mansfield,  to  me,  was  an  enigma.  Ask  any  worthy 
member  of  my  profession  to-day  his  opinion  of  Mans- 
field as  an  actor  and  he  will,  I  am  sure,  agree  with 
Joseph  Knight.  I  am  one  of  the  few  actors  who  made 
a  study  of  Mr.  Mansfield  —  for  many  reasons,  the  para- 
mount one  being  that  I  considered  that  I  was  indirectly 
responsible  for  his  amazing  and  sensational  success  in 
**A  Parisian  Romance." 

I  maintain  that  Mansfield  was  never  a  great  actor, 
but  a  clever  and  gifted  man  —  a  dominant  personafity 
which  asserted  itself  even  when  clothed  in  mediocrity. 

I  ask  any  fair  minded  person  if  Mansfield  ever  moved 
him  to  tears,  broke  his  throat  and  caused  his  heart  to 
burst  and  sob  his  soul  away,  as  did  our  beloved  Booth. 
Did  he  ever  cause  a  ripple  of  laughter  to  equal  those 
ripples  set  running  by  delightful  Willie  Collier?  Did  he 
ever  make  you  feel  like  bounding  upon  the  stage  and 
cHmbing  up  to  Juliet's  balcony,  as  one  is  prompted  to 
do  when  witnessing  E.  H.  Sothern  pay  tribute  to  Julia 
Marlowe?  Did  he  ever  make  you  start  from  your  seat 
and  thank  God  that  the  performance  was  over,  as  when 
listening  to  Edwin  Booth's  appeal  to  be  allowed  to  enter 


72  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

the  banquet  hall  where  his  daughter  is  being  held  pris- 
oner in  "A  Fool's  Revenge"?  Did  he  ever  rivet  you 
to  the  spot  by  pure,  sweet,  untheatric  dehvery  of  a 
speech  without  effort,  as  did  Charles  R.  Thorne,  in  "The 
Banker's  Daughter"?  Did  he  ever  hold  you  enthralled 
in  a  spell  of  reverence,  as  did  Salvini  or  John  McCuIIough 
in  his  address  to  the  Senate  in  "Othello"?  In  a  word 
did  Alansfield  ever  make  you  really  laugh  or  truly  sob? 
Never?     Then  greatness  was  denied  him. 

I  argue  that  if  an  actor  cannot  appeal  to  you  through 
the  emotions  he  should  take  down  his  sign.  If  an  actor 
cannot  make  you  laugh  or  cry;  fails  to  impress  by  any 
method  except  that  of  physical  force  or  personahty; 
cannot  make  love,  he  fails  to  quahfy.  Mansfield's 
attempts  to  storm  or  win  any  of  these  emotions  were  as 
futile  as  they  were  absurd  and  when  he  ventured  within 
the  realms  of  Shakespeare  he  was  atrocious  or  pre- 
posterous. With  all  his  unquestionable  intelligence,  he 
was  never  able  to  master  Shakespeare's  rhythm  or  to 
scan  correctly,  as  those  who  have  witnessed  his  Richard, 
Henry  the  Fifth,  and  Shylock,  will  remember. 

That  is  my  opinion  of  his  acting. 

What  he  did  for  the  American  stage  is  a  far  different 
proposition.  There  is  no  denying  the  fact  that  he  was 
quite  as  successful  in  elevating  the  drama  in  America 
as  Irving  was  in  England,  but  he  suffered  by  comparison, 
as  Irving  was  superior  in  knowledge  of  stage  craft.  He 
was  not  the  equal  of  Irving,  either  as  actor  or  stage 
manager.  True,  he  was  denied  Irving's  authorities  and 
the  assistance  of  technicians  who  hghtened  Irving's 
efforts  and  materially  added  to  his  fame.  Neither  were 
Mansfield's  methods,  employed  to  further  his  ends,  as 
legitimate  as  Irving's.  Irving  never  found  it  necessary 
to  insult  his  audience  for  its  lack  of  patronage,  or 
failure  of  appreciation.  Dear  benign  Henry  Irving  de- 
voted as  much  time  to  beget  a  friend  as  Mansfiekl  did 


RICHARD  MANSFIELD  73 

to  destroy  one.  Had  Mansfield  studied  his  characters 
with  the  same  amount  of  reverence  which  he  bestowed 
upon  his  productions  and  attention  to  "detail"  I  might 
have  agreed  with  his  biographers;  but  I  conscientiously 
say  that  I  cannot.  The  mistakes  he  perpetrated  were 
often  misconstrued  into  perfections  of  art. 

Mansfield,  in  my  opinion,  was  an  actor  who  selected 
the  one  art  in  which  he  was  totally  unfitted  to  shine  and 
in  which  nature  never  intended  him  to  soar.  He  did 
everything  wrong,  well. 

Personally,  I  liked  Mansfield.  He  was  most  com- 
panionable, full  of  anecdotes,  a  fine  musician,  sculptor, 
linguist,  conversationist  and  could  be  most  agreeable, 
particularly  to  those  whom  he  cared  to  interest.  I  had 
several  delightful  chats  and  very  often  dined  with  him 
in  his  private  car  and  always  came  away  wishing  he 
could  be  persuaded  to  send  over  his  charm  into  some 
of  the  plays  of  his  extensive  repertoire.  But  no,  his 
channels  were  in  the  deep,  dark  waters  of  the  uncanny. 

I  have  never  left  the  playhouse,  after  witnessing  one 
of  his  performances,  with  a  sweet  taste  in  my  mouth 
or  a  wholesome  thought.  The  trend  of  his  characteriza- 
tions was  towards  the  cruelty  in  mankind.  He  catered 
to  the  morbid.  There  was  little  sunshine  in  his  plays. 
They  were  as  a  rule  overcast  with  the  clouds  of  misery, 
crime,  and  the  "Winter  of  our  discontent!"  In  the 
words  of  Joseph  Knight,  ''How  Awful!**  Yet  what  a 
true  disciple  of  Cazauran  he  proved  to  be!  No  one 
remembers  a  laugh  provoker,  while  even  third  rate 
"serious"  actors  win  posthumous  praise! 

Mansfield  was  considered  a  great  actor  by  the  masses. 
But  do  the  masses  know?  No!  You  will  hear  them 
prate  about  his  "detaiL"  I  do  not  agree  with  the 
masses  and  never  have  agreed  with  them. 

I  do  not  enjoy  a  visit  to  the  morgue. 

I   consider  Mansfield's  detail,   as  a  rule,   misapplied. 


74  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

If  sitting  upon  a  great  piece  of  scenery  resembling  an 
artichoke  and  stabbing  himself  with  a  huge  Roman 
dagger  without  toppling  over,  as  he  did  as  Brutus,  is 
detail,  then  I  am  wrong.  When  I  saw  him  perform  this 
piece  of  "business"  I  marvelled  at  the  vitality  of  Brutus 
and  the  weight  of  his  head  for  surgeons  tell  me  that 
when  one  dies  of  a  self-inflicted  wound,  particularly 
when  administered  by  a  cleaver,  the  head  falls  forward 
and  naturally  the  body  foflows.  Not  so  with  Mr. 
Brutus  as  played  by  Mansfield!  He  appeared  too  busily 
engaged  in  counting  the  people  in  the  gallery  to  allow 
any  authority  on  self-inflicted  wounds  to  interfere  with 
his  "detail." 

Again  take  the  death  scene  in  "A  Parisian  Romance." 
He  is  supposed  to  die  from  a  stroke  of  apoplexy,  not  a 
stroke  of  lightning.  Mansfield  flopped  over  as  if  hit 
on  the  head  with  a  club.  The  original,  Germaine,  who 
played  the  part  in  Paris,  received  his  stroke  like  a 
gentleman,  sank  into  his  chair,  was  carried  into  an 
ante-room  and  calmly  passed  away,  a  white  hand  ap- 
pearing betvv^een  the  curtains  as  he  endeavored  to  rejoin 
his  disreputable  friends.  If  one  were  privileged  to  read 
the  original  manuscript  one  would  find  that  the  Baron 
is  supposed  to  faint  as  he  has  fainted  many  times  before. 
The  people  carry  him  ofl^  and  the  party  continues  its 
revels  until  notified  that  its  host  has  passed  away  in  the 
adjacent  room.  Not  so  with  Mansfield,  catering  to  the 
masses,  which  enjoy  "detail!"  He  got  his  stroke, 
dropped  his  glass  upon  the  table,  fell  —  tableau !  All 
stand  riveted.  Someone  cries,  "The  Baron  is  dead! 
Stop  that  music!"     Curtain! 

The  American  people  not  only  fancy  "detail";  they 
also  want  "ginger"  and  "the  punch"!  No  pousse  caje 
for  them!  They  want  "the  straight  goods"  —  and 
Mansfield  certainly  handed  them  over! 


Chapter  XIII 
IN  VARIETY 


FTER  my  engagement  with  Robson  at 
the  Howard  Athenaeum,  which  lasted 
for  only  a  week,  my  mind  was  fully 
made  up  to  adopt  the  stage  as  my  voca- 
tion. I  went  to  New  York  and  secured 
a  position  as  utiHty  man  at  Niblo's 
Garden,  under  the  management  of  Charles  R.  Thorne, 
Sr.,  and  Edwin  Eddy.  But  this  lasted  for  only  a  few 
weeks,  the  season  proving  a  failure. 

During  the  seasons  of  1875  ^^^  ^^7^  ^  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  secure  any  employment  whatever.  The  variety 
business,  now  called  vaudeville,  about  this  time  had 
well-nigh  supplanted  the  legitimate  drama  in  the  estima- 
tion of  the  masses  and  I,  being  rather  an  astute  observer 
for  a  youngster,  determined  to  turn  my  attention  in 
that  direction.  The  salaries  offered  were  tempting  and 
the  opportunities  of  advertising  one's  abihty  much 
greater  than  in  the  legitimate.  I  persuaded  my  father 
to  advance  me  enough  money  to  have  some  costumes 
prepared  and  succeeded  in  inducing  Bradford  to  prepare 
a  sketch  for  me.  It  was  called  **His  First  Rehearsal,'* 
the  receipt  for  which  I  take  pleasure  in  submitting.  You 
will  see  that  sketches  in  those  days  cost  small  fortunes ! 

I  succeeded  in  procuring  an  opening  at  the  Howard 
Athenaeum  under  the  management  of  John  Stetson. 
My  associates  appearing  in  the  same  programme  were 
Gus  Williams,  Sol  Smith  Russell,  Pat  Rooney,  Denman 
Thompson  and  several  others  who  afterwards  became 
famous  players.     I  was  handicapped  to  a  great  extent 

75 


76 


In  the  Little  Rebel 

One  oj  my  first  excury:ifms  iyito  the  legitimate 


IN  VARIETY  77 

by  this  competition  and  my  success  was  not  very  flatter- 
ing until  about  the  end  of  the  week  when  I  gained  more 
confidence  and  my  methods  were  a  bit  surer.  On  the 
Saturday  night  of  my  engagement  Bradford  brought  a 
friend  of  his,  Clay  Greene,  to  see  his  protege.  That 
evening,  fortunately  for  me,  my  sketch  went  particu- 
larly well.  Years  after  Mr.  Greene  wrote  the  following 
tribute: 

THE    LEGEND    OF    NATHANIEL 
By  Clay  M.  Greene 

"Come  thou   with   me,   tonight,   and  sit  awhile. 

To  see  the  mummers;    not  at  the  Museum: 
Tis  laughter's  Tomb.     The  Parle's  a  dull  Te  Deum; 

The  Globe's  a  Morgue.     Mayhap  there  be  a  smile 
That  lurketh  somewhere  in  the  dingy  Athenaeum." 

Thus  spake  my  friend,  Joe  Bradford:    Rest  his  soul! 

I'd   known   him   then   a  day,   and  we  were  chumming. 
As  though   we'd  been  for  years   Love's  lute-strings  thumbing. 

We'd  told  each  other's  lives;    each  ope'd  his  soul. 
And  drank  the  other's   health   'till   riotous  becoming. 

To  his  beloved  Athenaeum,  then, 

We  almost  reeled,  and  in  a  trice  were  seated, 
So  close  that  we  could  scent  the  footlights  heated. 

We  laughed   indeed,   again,   again,   again. 
As  clownish  Mummers  ancient  songs  and  quips  repeated. 

Then  came  into  the  light  a  slender  boy, 

And   Bradford  yelled   with  lusty   acclamation: 
"That's  Nat,  God  bless  him!"     Then,  without  cessation. 

The  stripling  held  each   hearer  like  a  toy. 
And  thrilled  him  now  with  song,  then  wondrous  imitation. 

First  Farce,  then  Opera,  now  broad  Burlesque, 

Then  e'en   in  tragic  realms  magestic  soaring. 
And  each   attempt  success  prodigious  soaring; 

(Be  it  pathetic,   tuneful,  or  grotesque,) 
Till  every  palm  was  bruised  with  ravenous  encoring. 

The  youth   had  scarce  outgrown   his  spelling  book. 

And  yet  tho'   oft  some  honored   name  defaming,         ' 

By   matchless  ridicule,   his  pure  declaiming 
Came  easily   as  ripples  to   a  brook. 

Or  thrills  to  lover's  souls  when   latest  sweethearts   naming. 


78  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

"Who  is  this  boy?"    I   cried.      "He's  clever,  quite; 

Whence  came  he?      Where  began   his  gentle  schooling? 
'Tis  pity  there's  no  art  in   such   tomfooling. 

And   much   I   fear  this  youth   I've  seen,  tonight, 
Is  but   a  clever  clownl      Alas!      Such   kindless  ruling!" 

"Then   thou'rt  a   weakling  Judge  to  so   decide!" 
Cried  Joseph,   redd'ning  in   his   indignation. 

"A  clown?      No  art?      Why   'tis  no  imitation 
That  we  have  heard;    nor  can   it  be  denied 

This  callow  boy  is  that  one  genius  of  a  nation!" 

"You   smile;    you  purse  your  lips;    and  even   doubt. 

E'er   I   have  drunk   myself  into  perdition, 
Nat  Goodwin   will   have  filled   with  inanition 

The   fame  of  every   actor   hereabout:  — 
For  Nature  gave  him  the  Creator's  tireless  mission!" 

He   reproduced  no  song,   no  speech,   no  jest. 
But  it  was  lustered  by  some   hidden  power 

That  comes  to  Genius  born   with   Fortune's  dower. 
Youth   in   his  veins,   ambition   in   his  breast. 

This  boy   will  be  one  day.  the  hero  of  his  hour. 

More  than  a  decade  passed.     Unlike  to  me, 
Joe  lived   not  to  fulfill  that   night's  foretelling; 

Yet  oft  adown  the  years  there  comes  a   welling 
From   that  Somewhere,   to  green   prophecy 

Which   in   my   doubting   soul   that   night  usurped   a  dwelling. 

Today,   I   saw  an   eager,   jostling  throng. 
Like   some  greed-laden   human   panorama. 

Surround   a  playhouse  door  with   vulgar  clamour. 

To  honor   Bradford's  star.      "Seats!      Seats!"   their  song:- 

To  witness  his,  Nathaniel's,  show  of  laurelled  glamour. 

Oh,   gentle  friend  of  mine,  thou   art   no   more; 

But  lend  thy  spirit  ear  while   I   am   spinning 
My   admiration's  tale  of  endless  winning 

Nat  ever   made.      He  never  failed  to  score 
Since  we  together  saw  his  modest  first  beginning. 

I   hid  thy   prophecy   within   my   breast. 

And  ever  and  anon   its  force  recalling. 
Watched  Goodwin   stride  with   speed   that   was  appalling; 

Till   now   his  very   foes  proclaim   him  best 
Amongst   his  votaries,   thy  very   words  forestalling. 

And   I   am  glad   to   know,   my   spirit  chum. 

That   I   long  since  let   honest  admiration 
Be  leavened  by  a   Friendship's  adulation 

For  him   who  in   these  decades   hath   become 
No  artless  clown,   but  that  one  genius  of  a   nation. 


IN  VARIETY  79 

Drink   deep  with   us,   thou   gentle   Friendship's   wraith;  — 
If  thou   hast  aught  to  drink  where  thou'rt  abiding. 

And  Nat  and   I'll  recall   thy  stalwart   faith 

Which   met   my  doubting  with  indignant  chiding, 

That   night   when   you   a   new  star's  orbit  were   deciding. 

"Come  thou   with   me,   tonight,   and  sit  awhile. 

To  see  the  Mummers   (not  at  the  Museum. 
'Tis  laughter's  tomb;    the   Park's  a  dull  Te  Deum; 

The  Globe's   no   more):    for   I   would   see  thee   smile. 
While  thousands  laud   the  star  of  thy  loved  Athenaeum  I" 

After  my  run  at  the  Howard  Athenaeum  Tony  Pastor 
offered  me  an  engagement  at  $50  a  week  to  appear  at 
his  Variety  theatre  in  New  York.  When  I  arrived  I 
was  terror  stricken  at  the  way  in  which  he  had  an- 
nounced me.  I  was  advertised  as  ** Actor,  Author  and 
Mimic."  I  remained  with  Tony  several  weeks  and 
when  I  left  Gotham  my  salary  had  grown  to  the  sum 
of  $500  a  week,  a  tremendous  salary  in  those  days. 

Variety  was  hardly  to  my  liking  as  it  gave  me  too 
much  time  to  myself  and  I  regret  to  say  that  I  saved 
but  httle  from  my  season's  work. 

Colonel  Sinn  of  the  Olympic  Theatre,  New  York, 
made  me  alluring  offers  to  continue  on  the  variety  stage, 
but  I  decided  to  enter  the  legitimate  and  accepted  an 
engagement  to  appear  as  Captain  Crosstree  under  the 
management  of  Matt  Morgan,  then  the  manager  of  the 
14th  Street  Theatre  in  the  burlesque  of  "Black-eyed 
Susan."  It  was  there  I  met  for  the  first  time  dainty 
little  Minnie  Palmer  and  we  appeared  together  in  two 
farces,  "Sketches  in  India"  and  "The  Little  Rebel." 

After  a  few  weeks  at  the  Fourteenth  Street  house  we 
accepted  an  engagement  to  return  to  the  Howard  Athe- 
naeum and  we  opened  there  at  a  joint  salary  of  $750  a 
week.  I  was  very  proud  of  this,  as  I  had  previously 
left  that  theatre,  not  particularly  successful,  at  a  salary 
of  only  $15  a  week. 


Chapter  XIV 
ELIZA  WEATHERSBY 


INNIE     and    I    determined    to     remain 
together    and     continue    in    vaudeville 
through  the   following  year    and    made 
our     arrangements     accordingly.       But 
lijj]  ^^^^j^  ITjJ    these   were   vetoed   by   her  mother  who 
^■^^  '        '^^^     decided    that   we   had   better   earn    our 
respective  livings  apart. 

The  following  summer  (1876)  I  opened  in  the  produc- 
tion of  Rice  and  Goodwin's  "Evangeline,'*  words  and 
lyrics  by  J.  Cheever  Goodwin,  music  by  Edward  E. 
Rice.  I  appeared  in  the  character  of  Captain  Dietrich. 
My  associates  in  this  production  were  William  H.  Crane, 
James  MofFit,  Harry  Josephs,  Veney  Clancy,  Lizzie 
Webster  and  Ehza  Weathersby,  one  of  the  most  famous 
beauties  of  the  burlesque  stage,  who  came  to  this 
country  originally  with  Lydia  Thompson. 

A  friendship  sprang  up  between  Miss  Weathersby 
and  me.  It  quickly  ripened  into  love  and  at  the  close 
of  our  season  we  were  married  by  the  Rev.  M.  Kennedy 
of  New  Rochelle,  New  York,  on  the  24th  day  of  June, 

1877. 

Eliza  Weathersby  proved  a  loving  and  lovable  wife 

and  was  of  great  assistance  to  me  in  my  profession,  play- 
ing the  principal  female  roles  in  all  my  plays  with  great 
success  until  she  was  forced  to  retire  from  the  stage 
because  of  the  illness  which  gradually  brought  about  her 

death. 

80 


Eliza  Weathersby 

The  wife  who  mothered  me 


ELIZA  WEATHERSBY  8 1 

Eliza  Weathersby  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
women  whom  I  have  ever  known  and  one  of  the  most 
self-sacrificing  wives  that  ever  blessed  man  with  devotion 
and  love. 

Forced  by  circumstances,  she  left  a  position  at  the 
Haymarket  Theatre,  London,  where  she  was  considered  the 
best  soubrette  since  Mrs.  Keely,  and  came  to  America 
with  the  celebrated  Lydia  Thompson's  famous  troupe 
of  British  blondes.  Her  environment  was  most  distaste- 
ful to  her  as  the  women  with  whom  she  was  forced  to 
associate  were  not  to  her  liking.  Lydia  Thompson, 
herself,  was  a  most  exemplary  woman  and  as  virtuous 
as  Eliza.  She,  too,  was  a  very  clever  actress  even  before 
entering  the  field  of  burlesque  and  a  friendship  sprang 
up  between  them  which  lasted  for  many  years. 

The  reason  for  Eliza  Weathersby's  entry  into  the 
burlesque  field  was  that  the  salary  offered  enabled  her 
to  support  her  widowed  mother  and  five  sisters  who 
were  left  in  want  by  the  death  of  their  father.  She 
knew  that  no  matter  what  her  surroundings  were  she 
was  proof  against  all  temptations  and  her  afterlife 
revealed  how  thoroughly  she  had  diagnosed  her  char- 
acter and  future.  Every  week  after  our  marriage  a 
certain  sum  was  sent  across  the  ocean,  out  of  our  joint 
salary,  to  the  widow  and  orphans  left  in  London  and, 
one  by  one,  each  succeeding  year  a  sister  w^ould  come 
over  and  join  our  happy  family.  Emmy,  the  most 
beautiful,  our  favorite  sister,  was  taken  away  from  us 
two  years  after  she  arrived.  Contracting  a  severe  cold 
she  died  of  pneumonia  and  we  sorrowfully  put  her 
away  in  Woodlawn.  She  was  a  charming  girl.  And 
she  gave  promise  of  becoming  a  splendid  actress. 

I  was  only  a  stripling  when  I  married  this  beautiful 
creature.  Moreover  I  was  unreliable  and,  I  confess, 
unappreciative  of  what  the  fates  had  been  so  kind  as  to 
bestow  upon  me.     Many  have  accused  me  of  ** wanton 


82  -  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

neglect."  I  may  have  neglected  her,  but  only  for  the 
companionship  of  men.  She  never  complained  and 
during  the  ten  years  of  our  happy  married  life  there 
was  never  one  discordant  note.  She  was  ten  years  my 
senior  and  treated  me  more  hke  a  son  than  a  husband, 
but,  like  the  truant  boy  who  runs  away  from  school 
now  and  then,  I  was  ahvays  glad  to  return  and  seek 
the  forgiveness  that  an  indulgent  mother  always  gives  a 
wayward  child.  Our  own  home  near  Boston  was  a  little 
paradise.  I  was  seldom  away  from  it  and  together  we 
spent  many,  many  happy  hours,  surrounded  by  our  little 
sisters  and  my  friends  —  who  were  always  her  friends. 
She  was  domesticated  to  a  degree  and  never  cared  for 
the  theatre.  A  loving  sister,  a  dutiful  daughter,  a 
loving  wife,  she  is  resting  in  Woodlawn  and  the  daisies 
grow  over  her  grave. 

We  remained  with  the  "  Evangehne"  aggregation  during 
the  summer  of  1876.  This  engagement  was  interrupted 
by  my  accepting  another  to  appear  at  the  Walnut  Street 
Theatre  in  Philadelphia  in  conjunction  with  the  famous 
John  Brougham.  This  only  lasted  for  two  weeks  when 
I  rejoined  Rice  and  continued  with  him  until  I  was 
discharged  for  having  a  fistic  encounter  with  the  stage 
manager  who  was  always  making  things  particularly  dis- 
agreeable for  me.  EHza  was  offered  an  increase  of  salary 
to  remain,  but  she  preferred  casting  her  lot  with  me. 

We  packed  up  our  parcels  and  went  to  New  York  in 
search  of  an  engagement.  I  succeeded  in  procuring  an 
opening  with  Harrigan  and  Hart  at  the  Theatre  Comique 
where  I  remained  for  several  weeks.  Tony  Hart  and  I 
were  always  like  Damon  and  Pythias. 

What  a  dehghtful  character  was  Tony  Hart! 

**His  face  was  a  thanksgiving  for  his  past  life  and  a 
love  letter  to  all  mankind." 

About  1872  a  bright-eyed  Irish-American  lad  named 
Anthony  Cannon  came  over  the  theatrical  horizon  like 


ELIZA  WEATHERSBY  83 

a  burst  of  sunshine  and  it  took  but  a  few  short  years 
for  him  to  establish  himself  in  the  hearts  of  the  Ameri- 
can pubHc.  I  met  him  about  1874,  before  I  went  on 
the  stage,  and  a  friendship  sprang  up  between  us  that 
terminated  only  when  he  was  laid  to  rest  in  the 
Worcester  graveyard. 

Tony  Hart  was  the  name  of  the  lad  of  melody,  after 
he  had  fired  the  Cannon.  From  the  time  he  became 
associated  with  Edward  Harrigan  until  the  name  of 
Harrigan  and  Hart  became  famous  from  coast  to  coast, 
that  boy  caused  more  joy  and  sunshine  by  his  delightful 
gifts  than  any  artist  of  his  time.  To  refer  to  him  as 
talented  was  an  insult.  Genius  was  the  only  word  that 
could  be  applied.  He  sang  like  a  nightingale,  danced 
like  a  fairy,  and  acted  hke  a  master  comedian.  No 
dialect  was  too  difficult  for  him  —  Irish,  Negro,  Dutch, 
German,  Italian  became  his  own,  and  one  lost  sight  of 
the  individual  in  the  truthfulness  of  portrayal.  His 
magnetism  was  compelling,  his  personality  charming. 
He  had  the  face  of  an  Irish  Apollo.  His  eyes  were 
liquid  blue,  almost  feminine  in  their  dove-like  expres- 
sion. His  head  was  large  and  round  and  covered  with 
a  luxurious  growth  of  brown  curly  hair  which  clustered 
in  ringlets  over  a  strong  brow.  His  feet  and  hands  were 
small,  his  smile  almost  pathetic.  His  disposition  turned 
December  into  May.  This  was  the  lad  who  sang, 
danced  and  acted  himself  into  the  hearts  of  America 
during  the  seventies  and  early  eighties. 

Tony  Hart  was  the  friend  of  all  mankind  and  my 
especial  pal. 

I  have  loved  three  men  in  my  life,  and  he  was  two  of 
them. 

I  miss  him  greatly,  especially  on  the  25th  of  each 
July.  We  both  were  born  on  that  day  and  during  a 
period  of  twenty  years  we  exchanged  telegrams,  letters 
or  cables  of  loving  friendship. 


84  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

He  went  away  many  years  ago,  but  his  memory  will 
always  linger  with  me.  We  laughed  and  sang  together 
for  twenty  years  and  when  they  took  him  away  to  join 
the  seraphs,  nature  discarded  the  mold  that  fashioned 
him.  She  could  find  no  one  worthy  to  fill  it.  When 
poor  Tony  left  us  the  stage  was  seen  through  tears; 
an  artist  had  gone  to  join  the  past  masters;  the  world 
had  lost  a  man  and  I,  man's  greatest  treasure  —  a 
friend. 

After  leaving  Harrigan  and  Hart,  Eliza  and  I  made 
up  our  minds  to  go  on  our  own.  I  knew  my  hmitations 
and  her  reputation.  She  had  previously  made  one  or 
two  journeys  into  stardom  alone  and  I  thought  it  would 
be  a  good  idea  to  organize  a  company  featuring  her. 
I  would  be  in  her  support. 

Our  finances  prohibited  a  production  sufficiently 
elaborate  for  a  burlesque  organization  so  we  determined 
to  have  a  play  written  on  the  fines  of  The  Vokes  Family 
skits  and  Salsbury's  Troubadors  which  were  then  play- 
ing successfully  throughout  the  country,  I  interested  a 
ne'er-do-well  playwright  named  George  Murray.  We 
collaborated  and  brought  out  a  fittle  play  called 
"Cruets"  into  which  we  injected  all  the  fittle  stunts  in 
which  we  excelled  (and  all  others  that  we  could  crib!). 
Thus  we  started  out  on  our  first  starring  tour,  her  name 
heading  the  company. 

We  played  through  the  New  England  circuit  where 
we  had  previously  appeared  in  "  Evangefine.**  Our  pro- 
ceeds the  first  week  went  away  beyond  our  most  irides- 
cent expectations.  We  cleared  in  the  neighborhood  of 
two  thousand  dollars  profit. 

Out  of  the  proceeds  of  our  first  week  I  paid  a  retainer 
to  Benjamin  Wolfe,  a  Boston  journafist  who  had  written 
"  The  Mighty  Dollar"  for  W.  J.  Florence,  to  write  us  a 
play  on  the  fines  of  the  one  we  were  then  doing.  Had 
I  known  what  was  in  store  for  us  I  would  not  have 


In  Hobbies  with  Eliza  Weathersby 
Tbe  play  I  won  at  jaro 


ELIZA  WEATHERSBY  85 

indulged  in  such  extravagance.  For  the  next  five 
months  we  never  saw  a  house  of  more  than  two  hundred 
dollars  at  any  performance  and  in  a  little  while  the 
remainder  of  our  $2,000  had  almost  vanished.  I  had 
paid  Wolfe  a  thousand  dollars  down  as  a  retainer  on  his 
agreeing  to  deliver  the  manuscript  in  five  months.  We 
had  been  travelHng  through  New  York,  Ohio  and  Illinois 
to  gradually  decreasing  business.  We  ahvays  left  a 
favorable  impression,  so  much  so  that  John  Albaugh  who 
was  then  managing  the  leading  theatre  at  Albany  wired 
me  for  a  return  date.  I  accepted  with  avidity,  as  it 
meant  a  week's  rest  and  a  possible  rehef  from  bad 
business. 

Upon  our  arrival  at  Albany  I  received  a  telegram 
saying  that  Wolfe  had  sent  his  play,  called  "Hob- 
bies" C.  O.  D.  A  thousand  dollars  was  needed  to 
get  the  manuscript  from  the  confines  of  the  post- 
ofiice.  A  thousand  dollars  to  me  then  looked  hke  a 
million! 

Poor  Ehza  had  saved  enough  from  her  earnings  to 
enable  her  to  put  aside  ten  one  thousand  dollar  govern- 
ment bonds.  These  I  insisted  she  lock  up  in  a  safe 
deposit  box  the  day  after  our  marriage  with  instructions 
to  tell  no  one  of  her  hidden  fortune  nor  ever  to  molest 
it  unless  we  were  starving.  When  the  telegram  arrived 
she  insisted  upon  going  down  to  New  York  and  taking 
out  one  of  the  bonds  with  which  to  release  our  play. 
I  would  not  give  my  consent  and  started  out  to  try  to 
borrow  the  money.  I  knew  few  people  in  Albany,  but 
had  two  friends  in  Troy  whom  I  thought  I  could  rely 
upon  to  come  to  my  rescue.  One  was  a  judge,  the 
other  a  gambler.  I  found  them,  both  financially  em- 
barrassed, but  between  them  they  dug  up  a  hundred 
dollars  which  they  presented  to  me. 

My  gambler  friend  suggested  that  I  take  the  hundred 
dollars,  go  upstairs  into  a  faro  game  in  which  he  held  a 


86  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

slight  interest  and  try  to  win  out.  I  reasoned  that  the 
hundred  was  of  no  use  to  me  and  determined  to  take  a 
chance.  I  went  into  the  gambling  room,  and  bet  the 
hundred  dollars  on  the  high  card.  It  won.  I  let  it 
stay  and  it  won  again,  giving  me  four  hundred  dollars. 
I  asked  for  a  chair  then  and  sat  down. 

In  ten  minutes  I  had  eleven  hundred  and  fifty  dollars! 
I  immediately  returned  the  hundred  dollar  loan,  bought 
Eliza  a  bunch  of  lilacs,  her  favorite  flower,  went  to  the 
post-office  and  returned  home  with  the  much  coveted 
manuscript. 

I  was  ashamed  to  tell  her  how  I  ** earned"  the  money, 
but  I  wouldn't  tell  her  a  falsehood  and  finall}^  told  her 
of  my  afternoon's  experience.  This  worried  her  greatly 
as  she  never  believed  that  any  good  results  came  from 
money  obtained  that  way.  I  assuaged  her  grief  and  as 
usual  was  forgiven.  We  spent  that  night  pondering 
over  the  manuscript  and  at  the  finish  we  both  decided 
it  was  vastly  inferior  to  our  little  play  "  Cruets."  How- 
ever, we  announced  a  production  for  Friday  night. 
This  gave  us  only  five  days  of  preparation.  We  thought 
so  little  of  it  that  we  never  gave  any  attention  as  to 
what  we  should  wear,  arriving  at  no  definite  conclusion 
until  the  night  of  the  performance.  So  little  did  we 
think  of  the  play  that  I  offered  Charles  Bowser,  my 
leading  comedian,  a  half  interest  in  it  for  five  hundred 
dollars  and  a  cancellation  of  the  three  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  I  owed  him  for  back  salary. 

"Natty,"  he  said,  "I  haven't  five  hundred  dollars  and 
even  if  I  had  I  wouldn't  care  to  invest  it  in  your  prop- 
erty." How  little  did  he  know  he  was  refusing  a 
fortune! 

When  the  curtain  rang  down  on  the-  finale  of  that 
play  I  would  not  have  sold  a  half  interest  in  it  for 
fifty  thousand  dollars!  It  was  a  whirlwind  of  laughter 
from  beginning  to  end.     We  were  all  dumbfounded  and 


ELIZA   WEATHERSBY  87 

could  not  understand  why  the  play  was  received  with 
such  manifestations  of  delight.  Everything  was  encored 
time  and  time  again  and  the  rafters  shook  with  applause 
and  laughter.  The  Saturday  morning  papers  were  most 
enthusiastic  and  in  a  few  days  I  was  beseiged  with  offers 
from  all  over  the  country. 

We  performed  this  play  successfully  for  four  years, 
Eliza  and  I  dividing  a  small  fortune.  Hers  was  put 
away  in  the  safe  deposit  vault  while  most  of  mine  went 
back  into  the  coffers  of  the  proprietors  of  various  places 
of  the  same  kind  as  that  in  which  I  won  the  original 
thousand  dollars. 

I  really  never  knew  how  much  we  did  make  out  of 
that  play  until  Eliza  died  and  willed  me  her  share.  It 
came  in  very  handy  at  the  time  and  was  gratifying  for 
two  reasons  —  it  eliminated  all  my  debts  and  was  a 
vindication  for  me,  in  a  way,  as  I  considered  it  proof 
that  (since  she  left  me  every  dollar  she  possessed,  with 
the  exception  of  the  ten  thousand  dollars  in  bonds 
which  she  had  earned  before  our  marriage)  I  had  not 
treated  her  as  cruelly  as  my  vilifiers  would  have  the 
world  believe. 

We  followed  "Hobbies"  with  several  other  productions 
including  "The  Member  for  Slocum,"  "Sparks,"  "Our- 
selves," "The  Ramblers"  and  one  or  two  others.  Then  we 
associated  ourselves  with  Edwin  F.  Thorne  and  produced 
a  melodrama  by  Henry  Pettit  called  "The  Black  Flag." 
I  appeared  as  Sim  Lazarus  and  Eliza  as  Ned  the  waif. 
We  produced  this  play  at  the  Union  Square  Theatre  in 
September,  1882,  and  continued  through  that  theatrical 
season  with  very  gratifying  success. 

Our  association  with  Edwin  Thorne  was  a  dehghtful 
one.  Though  only  a  mediocre  actor,  he  was  a  charming 
companion  and  his  personality  was  most  attractive.  It 
was  a  funny  experience  to  be  associated  with  Thorne 
as  it  seemed  but  a  few  short  months  since  Frank  Bur- 


88  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

beck  and  I  would  sneak  into  Thome's  bedroom  at  my 
mother's  house,  abscond  with  his  sword  and  scabbard, 
adjourn  to  the  back  yard  and  indulge  in  a  "duel"  which 
we  would  continue  until  interrupted  by  the  Thornes  or 
other  occupants  of  the  dwelling. 


Goodwins  Frolioues. 


N.C.Goodwin  dR..*HoBBiES 

Lithograph  of  Goodwin's  Froliques 


Chapter  XV 

SUCCESSFUL  FAILURES 

■^^^^^^  ARADOXICALLY  my  most  conspicuous 
failures,  barring  one  or  two,  have  been 
my  greatest  successes  notwithstanding 
the  reports  which  perhaps  will  be  handed 
down  to  posterity.  The  best  instance  of 
this  is  my  production  of  *'The  Merchant 
of  Venice."  The  critics  condemned  it  harshly;  some 
before  they  saw  it  and  more  cruelly  after.  Maybe  it 
was  deserved.  I  say  maybe  because  against  those 
cowardly  assaults  I  have  the  comforting  knowledge  that 
there  were  a  few,  including  myself,  who  disagreed  with 
those  enhghtened  gentlemen.  Among  the  minority  I 
might  mention  Henry  Watterson,  Mr.  Clapp  of  the 
Boston  "Advertiser,"  WilKam  Ball,  Stillson  Hutchins, 
George  Riddel,  George  P.  Goodale  of  the  Detroit  "Free 
Press"  and  a  few  actors  of  intelligence. 

Many  of  the  sapient  censors  of  my  work  objected 
most  strenuously  to  the  disguising  of  my  known  methods 
and  a  loss  of  personality.  I  presume  they  would  have 
preferred  me  to  play  Shylock  as  it  was  played  by  the 
predecessors  of  MackHn,  but  why  should  I  copy  "tradi- 
tion" before  tradition  was  born? 

Nobody  with  human  intelligence  could  ever  discover 
humor  in  the  dignified  Shylock,  a  Jew,  but,  neverthe- 
less, the  only  gentleman  in  the  play.  Possessed  of 
subtlety?  Yes.  Humor?  No.  a  thousand  times,  no! 
Had  the  learned  critics  who  assailed  my  efforts  known 
anything  regarding  the  motives  that  prompted  Shake- 

89 


90  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

speare  to  adapt  the  play  from  a  Spanish  source,  written 
only  to  please  the  vagaries  of  the  Elizabethan  court, 
they  might  not  have  marvelled  at  my  efforts  to  dignify 
the  character  of  Shylock.  I  would  not  venture  to  assert 
how  easy  was  the  rendering  after  I  had  absorbed  the 
character  nor  would  I  even  dare  whisper  what  the 
performances  throughout  the  country  yielded. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  history  tells  me  that  they  were 
the  largest  returns,  at  the  prices,  of  any  series  of  per- 
formances ever  given  in  America  up  to  that  time. 

The  same  results  marked  my  production  of  "A  Mid- 
summer Night's  Dream" — which  is  written  down  as 
*' another  Goodwin  failure."  If  more  than  five  thousand 
dollars  on  the  day  (which  were  the  receipts  of  the  last 
Saturday  at  the  New  Amsterdam  Theatre)  spells  failure, 
mine  was  unmitigated. 

The  same  story  of  successful  failure  may  be  told  of 
my  production  of  "Nathan  Hale."  It  was  greeted  by 
packed  houses  and  condemned  by  the  press  for  my 
"audacity."  It  was  audacious  to  play  characters  in 
serious  plays. 

My  performance  of  Nick  Bottom  in  "A  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream"  was  supposed  to  be  funny,  but  Shake- 
speare's name  was  on  the  front  door  and  "knocking" 
was  forbidden  until  the  door  was  opened.  Then  how 
the  iconoclasts  did  knock!  They  even  found  fault  with 
the  anatomy  of  the  ass's  head!  However,  that  is  easily 
accounted  for  —  one  sees  oneself  reflected  in  a  brook 
and  an  ass  never  looks  down. 

Two  failures  I  concede  —  "Beauty  and  the  Barge"  and 
"Wolfville."  The  former,  a  splendid  play,  was  inade- 
quately cast.  The  other,  a  bad  play,  was  perfectly  cast. 
The  net  results  —  both  hopeless.  I  knew  that  "Beauty 
and  the  Barge"  was  lost  with  all  on  board  before  I 
made  my  entrance.  "Wolfville"  was  wiped  off  the  map 
at  the  dress  rehearsal.     They  met  deserving  ends  but  I 


SUCCESSFUL  FAILURES  91 

honestly  believe  that  **  Beauty  and  the  Barge"  could  be 
resuscitated  and,  properly  cast,  run  the  allotted  span. 

So  sanguine  was  I  regarding  the  reception  of  those 
plays,  barring  "Wolfville,"  that  I  was  fearful  lest  the 
critics  would  not  be  present. 

I  regret  to  say  that  they  were! 

They  strangled  my  Shylock,  crucified  my  Beauty, 
sank  my  Barge,  burned  my  Wolfville,  spanked  my 
Bottom  and  relegated  me  to  the  sage  brush  of  farce 
comedy,  gaining  their  ends  by  withholding  their  praises 
—  for  business  gradually  decreased.  Up  to  the  period 
of  my  return  to  farce  comedy  I  broke  every  record  at 
the  Knickerbocker  Theatre  with  "Nathan  Hale" — much 
to  the  discomfiture  of  "Willie"  Winter  and  his  satellites; 
and  of  course  I  was  condemned  by  the  critics  who  shine 
in  the  reflected  light  of  that  hypocritical,  self-seeking 
Thersites. 

Shortly  after  I  appeared  in  a  farce  called  "The  Genius" 
at  the  Bijou  Theatre,  New  York,  and  never  in  my  life 
have  I  been  the  recipient  of  such  commendatory  notices 
for  my  work.  I  was  "absolutely  perfect"  from  the 
critics'  point  of  view.  Even  the  Hebraic  gentleman  who 
writes  for  the  New  York  "American"  was  courteous  — 
aye,  even  complimentary,  as  was  also  the  dainty  critic 
of  the  "  Evening  Sun"  —  and  receipts  never  reached  $4,000 
during  any  given  week! 

Truly  a  wonderful  picture  is  that  painted  by  Reynolds 
of  Garrick  between  the  Muses,  Tragedy  and  Comedy. 
To  which  does  he  turn? 

I  wonder! 

Which  leads  me  to  remark  — 

Give  the  average  American  critic  a  mirror  and  a 
hammer  and  he  will  demonstrate  his  prowess  as  an 
iconoclast. 


Chapter  XVI 


BACK   IN  THE   EIGHTIES 

Y  first  trip  to  England  resulted  in  my 
being  able  to  add  to  my  list  of  imitations 
a  study  of  Sir  Henry  Irving.  How  it 
came  about  may  be  of  interest.  It 
followed  my  decision  to  produce  "Con- 
fusion" and  "Turned  Up." 
"Confusion"  had  previously  been  played  by  Henry  E. 
Dixey  and  Florence  Gerard  with  some  degree  of  success. 
I  think  they  would  have  made  a  great  success  had  they 
not  made  the  play  subservient  to  a  most  wonderful 
imitation  of  Henry  Irving  and  Ellen  Terry  in  a  travesty 
on  "The  Merchant  of  Venice."  They  performed  this 
travesty  dehghtfully,  but  as  it  lasted  only  about  thirty 
minutes  and  was  the  feature  of  the  entertainment  the 
piece  de  resistance  naturally  suffered. 

I  saw  the  possibihties  of  "Confusion"  and  made  a  deal 
with  John  Stetson  for  a  road  tour.  I  gave  it  a  most 
excellent  cast,  including  such  names  as  John  Mason, 
Robert  Coote,  Loie  Fuller,  Charles  Bishop,  Leila  Farrell 
and  others  who  were  conspicuous  at  that  time. 

During  this  engagement  I  produced  for  the  first  time 
my  burlesque  of  "The  Bells,"  imitating  Henry  Irving  as 
Mathias.  It  was  a  double  bill  and  included  "Turned 
Up."  The  performance  made  an  instantaneous  hit  and  I 
received  much  credit  for  what  the  press  and  pubhc  were 
pleased  to  call  a  most  faithful  reproduction  of  the  great 
man.     I  was  extremely  nervous  on  the  first  night  as  I 

was  following  a  magnificent  imitation  of  Irving  lately 

92 


In  Turned  Up 

in  the  days  when  I  was  an  imitator 


BACK  IN  THE  EIGHTIES  93 

given  in  the  same  theatre  by  Henry  E.  Dixcy  who  had 
scored  a  tremendous  success.  He  had  a  striking  make 
up  for  his  Irving,  suggesting  him  in  face  and  carriage, 
but  his  reproduction  was  more  of  a  caricature  than  mine 
and  I  suffered  httle  by  comparison. 

Later  on,  while  producing  "The  Bells"  in  conjunction 
with  "Confusion"  at  the  Grand  Opera  House,  one  of  the 
company  whispered,  "Irving's  in  the  box!"  I  nearly 
fainted.  However,  I  had  only  a  few  moments  more  in 
which  to  finish  the  performance  so  I  gritted  my  teeth 
and  went  to  it. 

Irving  visited  me  later  on  in  my  dressing-room  and 
grasping  me  by  the  hand  ejaculated,  "My  dear  Good- 
win, I  congratulate  you!  I  had  no  idea  that  'The 
Bells'  was  such  an  interesting  play!" 

"My  dear  Irving,"  I  said,  "think  of  the  man  you 
saw  play  it!" 

"Having  played  the  part  for  over  twenty  years  and 
having  seen  your  wonderful  reproduction  of  me,  I  can 
now  see  where  I  have  been  very  much  in  error,"  he 
replied  laughingly. 

Some  years  after  at  a  supper  given  in  my  honor  he 
referred  to  my  performance  very  graciously,  pronouncing 
it  the  only  true  burlesque  he  had  ever  witnessed,  with 
the  possible  exception  of  one  by  Frederick  Robson, 
called  The  Great  Robson.  Robson  was  a  wonderful 
player  of  the  early  sixties. 

I  followed  "Confusion"  with  "Turned  Up,"  preceding 
each  play  with  "Lend  Me  Five  Shillings"  and  an  adap- 
tion from  the  French  of  a  play  called  "Gringoire."  I  was 
enabled  to  show  a  good  profit  on  the  correct  side  of  the 
ledger  for  the  following  two  years. 

On  my  next  trip  to  Europe  I  succeeded  in  interesting 
Wilfiam  Yardley  to  write  for  me.  With  Leander  Rich- 
ardson he  adapted  a  play  from  the  French  which  was 
produced  successfully  in  London  by  Charles  Wyndham 


94  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

and  called  "The  Candidate."  I  returned  to  America 
that  year  with  their  adaption,  calling  it  "The  Nominee." 
I  afterwards  produced  it  for  a  limited  run  at  the  Bijou 
Theatre,  New  York. 

Previously  I  had  made  several  phmges  into  musical 
comedy  and  comic  opera,  producing  with  Edward  E. 
Rice  at  the  Boston  Museum  "Cinderella  at  School," 
"The  Mascot"  and  "Pinafore."  Those  productions  were 
given  in  a  spirit  of  fun  and  as  a  relief  from  the  more 
serious  work  which  occupied  my  road  tours.  Irrespective 
of  the  profits  which  were  made  by  these  plunges  into 
dissipation  we  always  had  a  royal  time. 

It  was  here  that  I  again  resumed  my  dehghtful  asso- 
ciations with  dear  old  Ned  Rice.  What  a  misunder- 
stood person  is  this  happy-go-lucky  ne'er-do-well  who 
would  spend  his  last  twenty  dollar  bill  to  give  a  dinner 
to  a  pal !  The  sordid,  practical  manager  of  to-day  would 
do  well  to  emulate  this  self-sacrificing  gentleman. 
Salaries  meant  nothing  to  him  if  he  considered  the  actor 
necessary  to  enhance  the  artistic  value  of  any  of  his 
magnificent  productions.  So  thoughtful  of  his  women 
and  appreciative  of  his  men  was  he  as  to  make  it  a  joy 
to  be  associated  with  him  in  the  management  of  the 
classic  Boston  Museum.  I  was  always  fond  of  the  comic 
opera  style  of  entertainment  and  to  be  associated  with 
Rice  added  greatly  to  my  pleasure. 

The  extreme  gratification  of  being  for  a  time  the  lessee 
of  a  playhouse  in  which  I  had  previously  been  conspicu- 
ous only  as  a  spear  carrier  was  joy  indeed.  To  tear 
down  the  walls  of  respectability  and  storm  the  citadel  of 
the  legitimate;  to  make  the  sacred  place  a  playground 
were  dissipations  which  I  enjoyed  immensely.  To  sur- 
round myself  with  both  principals  and  chorus  after  the 
matinee,  have  dinner  served  from  the  Parker  House 
(and  be  able  to  liquidate  from  the  profits  of  that  mati- 
nee) in  the  greenroom,  where  the  people  were  allowed 


BACK   IN  THE  EIGHTIES  95 

to  talk  to  one  another  without  being  subject  to  a  fine 
for  their  audacity;  to  have  the  exquisite  power  of  bring- 
ing viands  behind  the  scenes  without  fear  of  challenge 
or  interruption;  with  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
only  we  knew  what  was  going  on  behind  the  scenes  of 
this  revered  old  playhouse  —  these  were  joys  indeed! 

It  was  very  wrong,  no  doubt,  but  nevertheless  a 
beatific  revenge  for  the  cuffs  I  had  received  in  years 
gone  by.  Maybe  it  was  only  a  mistake.  Perhaps  I 
should  not  have  indulged  in  these  sprees,  but  the  engage- 
ment was  in  the  summer,  we  paid  large  salaries,  the 
theatre  was  packed  at  every  performance,  the  dignified 
and  austere  management  shut  their  eyes  to  our  moods 
and  tenses  and,  really,  after  all,  it  was  but  a  little  hoh- 
day  and  John  Mason,  Joseph  Haworth,  William  J. 
LeMoyne,  Fred  Archer,  Barney  Nolan,  my  dear  brother 
Edward,  Sadie  Martinot,  Catherine  Lewis,  Belle  Archer, 
Rice  and  I  enjoyed  the  outing,  or  inning,  immensely! 


Chapter  XVII 
THE  HALCYON  DAYS  OF  UNION  SQUARE 


1 


Ti-ri-n  u-ii  ii-i  ii..r    IHU    n„[   I 


.^^^ 


?HE  early  eighties  were  replete  with  much 


excitement  and  lucrative  receipts.    From 
'82  to  *90  I  made  productions  annually 
and  nearly  all,  I  am  pleased  to  say,  were 
^.  n^    successful.     A    half   dozen  worth  nam- 

if  \   ing  were  *' Sparks,"  "A  Gay  Deceiver," 

"Col.  Tom  Bottom's  Dream,"  "A  Royal  Revenge,"  "The 
Skating  Rink"  and  "A  Terrible  Time."  During  these 
eight  years  I  made  many  friends  and  always  looked 
forward  to  the  summer  with  much  pleasure.  The  two 
months  devoted  to  booking  my  tour  for  the  coming 
season  always  afforded  me  unbounded  joy. 

What  would  I  not  give  to  swing  back  into  time  and 
have  one  brief  yesterday;  to  stroll  down  Broadway  and 
grasp  the  hands  of  long  ago;  to  drop  in  at  the  old 
Hoffman  House,  stroll  to  the  bar  and  be  greeted  by 
John  McCuIIough,  by  Ned  Buckley  (he  of  the  angelic 
voice  and  fist  of  a  gladiator),  by  Johnny  Mackie,  the 
lovable  cynic,  Jim  Collier,  the  uncle  of  our  magnetic 
Willie,  and  Sam  Piercy,  of  stentorian  tones  (who  died 
ere  he  blossomed) ! 

What  would  I  not  give  to  continue  down  Broadway 
to  Fourteenth  Street;  to  stop  and  talk  with  the  austere, 
but  charming  Barney  Macauley;  to  be  joined  by  Charlie 
Read,  the  delightful  minstrel;  the  tall  and  well-groomed 
Charles  R.  Thorne,  Jr.,  and  his  equally  attractive 
brother,  Ned,  the  handsome  Fred  Bryton,  the  scholarly 
Charles  Coghlan,   the  fascinating  Harry  J.   Montague, 

96 


THE  HALCYON   DAYS  OF  UNION  SQUARE         97 

clever  George  Knight,  Billy  Barry,  Sol  Smith  Russell, 
James  Lewis  and  John  Drew  I  These  gentlemen  con- 
stituted America's  "lowest  and  lightest,"  as  I  referred 
to  them  one  spring  morning  as  we  exchanged  salutations. 

Anon  come  John  Gilbert  and  the  aggressive  little  John 
T.  Raymond  and,  as  you  continue  down,  the  distin- 
guished members  of  Wallack's  and  the  Union  Square 
nod  kindly  recognition.  Then  you  return  on  a  journey 
to  the  St.  James  Hotel  to  be  met  graciously  by  its 
popular  proprietor,  Billy  Conners,  fascinating  Henry 
Perry,  the  wit  of  Broadway,  and  divers  other  men  about 
town,  including  "Plunger"  Walton  and  the  well-groomed 
John  Daly.  John  Daly,  the  gambler?  Yes,  but  only 
in  the  truest  meaning  of  the  word  —  not  a  corner  lounger 
with  dyed  mustache,  leering  at  the  women  as  they 
passed,  but  a  true  gambler  in  every  sense,  of  a  type 
now  extinct. 

Those  men  were  all  "pals,"  men  of  the  hour.  Where 
they  foregathered  a  perpetual  loving  cup  w^as  in  evidence. 

After  passing  the  usual  greetings  one  would  take  a 
stroll  uptown  as  far  as  Thirty-fourth  Street.  That  was 
as  high  as  the  afternoon  professional  pedestrian  cared  to 
ramble.  If  one  were  as  favored  as  I  was  in  those  happy 
days  one  would  be  sure  to  be  greeted  by  such  beautiful 
and  attractive  women  as  Lillian  Grubb,  Marie  Jansen, 
Kate  Forsythe,  Pauline  Hall,  Josie  Hall  and  dainty 
Mollie  Fuller,  her  chum,  the  Hanley  sisters,  the  attrac- 
tive Lillian  Russell  (almost  as  beautiful  and  radiant  as 
now!),  Marie  Tempest,  clever  Minnie  Maddern,  the 
daughter  of  Tom  Davey,  now  the  talented  Mrs.  Fiske, 
the  haughty  Rose  Eytinge,  Ada  Dyas  and  the  regal 
Ada  Rehan. 

The  brain  grows  giddy  as  my  fancy  wanders  back  to 
those  beautiful  autumnal  days  of  twenty  odd  years  ago 
when  all  was  chaotic  and  congested,  but  nevertheless  a 
delightful  pot   pourri   of  brilliancy,   genius,   talent  and 


98  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

beauty.  Some,  in  fact  a  majority,  have  passed  away, 
but  to  those  who  were  pjivileged  to  enjoy  the  happy 
association  of  those  clever  men  and  women  a  memory 
remains  that  will  only  be  obliterated  when  the  bell  that 
summoned  King  Duncan  to  his  doom  tells  us  that  the 
time  has  come  for  us  to  join  those  gone  before. 

Shall  we  join  them? 

I  wonder! 

Life  is  a  bridge  of  sighs,  over  which  memory  glides 
into  a  torrent  of  tears. 

It  was  somewhere  in  the  early  eighties  that  I  first 
heard  of  the  existence  of  the  Lambs  Club,  situated  at 
that  time  somewhere  near  Union  Square  and  suggested 
to  me  as  a  good  one  to  join  by  Harry  Becket,  then  the 
leading  comedian  of  Wallack's  Theatre.  It  was  during 
those  busy  times  when  all  of  us  were  compelled  to 
travel  for  the  season  of  the  then  thirty-two  weeks  that 
we  looked  forward  with  greatest  joy  to  meeting  our  pals 
on  the  glorious  Rialto.  It  was  bounded  by  Broadway 
and  Fourth  Avenue,  Fourteenth  and  Seventeenth  Streets 
with  the  attractive  Union  Square  Park  forming  the 
center  of  rest.  It  was  our  busy  playground  after  our 
toils  of  the  road. 

I  always  put  up  at  the  Union  Square  Hotel  where, 
after  a  hurried  bath  and  shave,  I  w^ould  rush  down  to 
the  street  below  to  be  welcomed  by  my  many  friends. 
Ah!  What  times  they  were!  I  brush  away  a  tear  as 
the  happy  memories  come  upon  my  vision.  I  see  the 
tall,  commanding  figure  of  Charlie  Thorne  come  briskly 
across  the  pavement,  switching  his  well-shaped  Hmbs 
with  a  tiny  cane  as  he  rushes  over  with  out-stretched 
hands  to  bid  me  welcome  and  congratulate  me  upon  my 
season's  efforts.  A  slap  on  the  back  from  clever  Louis 
Harrison  and  an  embrace  —  yes,  even  in  the  open !  — 
from  his  talented  sister  Alice;  a  yell  from  dear  old 
Matt   Snyder,   many   times   a   member   of  my   various 


LOTTA 

In  the  days  ivhen  ivork  was  play 


THE  HALCYON  DAYS  OF  UNION  SQUARE         99 

organizations,  a  grunt  of  welcome  from  the  stoic,  Sheri- 
dan Shook  and  an  acknowledgment  from  the  dignified 
Lawrence  Barrett;  a  benign  smile  from  Edwin  Booth, 
salutations  from  the  various  members  of  my  company, 
now  disbanded,  but  only  for  a  time!  We  generally  kept 
our  organizations  intact  for  many  seasons  in  those 
happy,  golden  yesterdays. 

Often  the  Ladies  of  our  profession  would  wander  down- 
town to  meet  their  brothers  and  here  and  there  one 
would  come  across  a  group  of  men  and  women  in  con- 
verse under  the  shady  trees,  comparing  notes  and  mak- 
ing their  arrangements  for  the  following  year.  Dainty 
Kate  Claxton,  then  the  heroine  of  "The  Two  Orphans," 
would  be  seen  in  earnest  conversation  with  A.  M. 
Palmer  in  front  of  the  Union  Square  Theatre.  Maggie 
Mitchell  would  briskly  acknowledge  the  respectful 
dofFmg  of  hats  as  she  tripped  across  from  the  Morton 
House  with  sprightly  Lotta  as  her  one  bright  particular 
companion  of  that  morning.  Midway  between  the 
Morton  House  and  the  Union  Square  the  fascinating 
Joe  Emmett  would  chirp  merrily  on  his  way  and  hold 
those  ladies  enthralled  until  some  other  came  along  to 
interrupt  their  entertaining  conversation. 

In  those  days,  no  arbitrary  booking  organization  held 
sway;  no  peeping  Izzies  or  Sols  had  access  to  our  books; 
we  were  all  on  our  own,  masters  of  our  own  enter- 
prises. Like  the  brokers  on  the  curb  we  arranged  our 
bookings  on  the  street.  Hither  and  hither  we  flew,  now 
procuring  a  week  in  Pittsburgh  or  a  night  in  Dayton, 
crossing  and  recrossing  from  the  Morton  House  to 
Union  Square,  corralling  a  manager  for  a  two  weeks* 
tour  in  the  sunny  South  or  four  in  the  unattractive 
middle  West,  ever  and  anon  stopping  on  our  way  to 
engage  the  services  of  some  particular  actor  we  desired 
for  the  new  play.  We  made  railroad  rates  with  hustling 
agents,  always  on  the  lookout  to  do  business  with  pro- 


100  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

fessionals.  There  was  no  Interstate  Commerce  law  in 
force  at  that  time! 

We  made  contracts  with  printers  and  appointments 
with  authors  simultaneously! 

Thus  the  day  was  occupied  from  ten  until  three  when 
all  work  was  suspended.  Then,  though  a  bit  fatigued, 
we  would  make  a  hasty  recapitulation  of  what  had  been 
accomplished,  select  our  own  particular  coterie  of 
friends  and  adjourn  to  Charlie  Collins'  (known  as 
"Dollar  Five"  Charlie)  cafe  where  the  balance  of  the 
day  was  devoted  to  food,  drink,  anecdote  and  song. 

Managers,  agents,  printers,  railroad  agents,  actors, 
singers  (of  obscurity  and  fame)  —  all  were  as  one  when 
the  bell  struck  three.  Perfect  equality,  unanimity, 
brotherly  love  and  comradeship  were  the  qualities  in 
vogue  on  the  Rialto  in  dear  old  New  York  during  the 
early  eighties.  At  that  time  I  made  the  remark, 
"When  you  leave  New  York  you're  camping  out.'* 

I  have  been  camping  out  since  1900. 


Chapter  XVIII 
THE   BIRTH  OF  THE  SYNDICATE 


[HOSE  were  halcyon  days  on  Union 
Square.  The  bookmg  of  tours  was  as 
attractive  as  it  was  uncertain,  attrac- 
tive because  it  was  uncertain!  Who 
does  not  find  a  hazardous  game  at- 
tractive? 

One  man  Tve  not  mentioned  was  in  daily  evidence  on 
the  Square.  He  was  fair,  always  faultlessly  dressed,  in 
frock  coat,  soft  black  felt  hat,  low  cut  waistcoat  (show- 
ing an  abundance  of  pleated  shirt  front,  ornamented  in 
the  center  with  a  single,  glittering,  pure  white  diamond), 
peg  top  trousers  tapering  down  to  a  pair  of  dainty  feet 
encased  in  the  latest  Parisian  patent  leather  boots.  He 
was  straight  of  figure  and  easy  of  carriage  and  affected 
a  drooping  mustache.  Also  he  bowed  pleasantly  to 
everyone  he  met! 

In  m^ake  up  he  suggested  the  type  of  man  drawn  by 
Bret  Harte  in  the  "  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat "  —  John 
Oakhurst,  gambler. 

Such  was  Jack  Havcrly,  the  originator  of  the  scheme 
of  forming  a  theatrical  trust  or,  as  it  is  now  called,  a 
syndicate. 

The  idea  must  have  worked  its  way  into  the  brain  of 
a  little,  rotund,  breezy  chap  who  always  accompanied 
the  genial  Haverly.  He  was  ever  at  his  side,  taking 
notes,  penciled  and  mental,  running  to  the  telegraph 
offices  with  instructions  from  his  master,  always  return- 
ing for  more,  his  little  furtive  eyes  constantly  wandering 
from  one  point  to  another,  calling  his  master's  attention 

lOI 


102  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

to  matters  of  detail  too  complicated  for  the  busy  Hav- 
erly  sometimes  to  consider.  The  little  lieutenant  never 
overlooked  anything.  Like  a  trusty  sentinel  was  this 
little  aide  upon  whom  the  mantle  of  the  master  was 
soon  to  fall. 

Haverly  neglected  the  business  which  formed  the 
nucleus  of  his  success  and  sought  bigger  and  more  allur- 
ing schemes  only  to  encounter  failure.  He  speculated 
in  mines  which  soon  brought  about  his  ruin  and  he  died, 
penniless  and  neglected,  leaving  only  the  legacy  of  an 
idea.  But  the  little  corporal  who  took  advantage  of  the 
suggestions  absorbed  from  Haverly  soon  arose  from  an 
obscurity  as  dense  as  that  of  his  Corsican  predecessor 
and  Charles  Frohman  jumped  over  the  horizon  and  in 
a  short  period  amazed  the  theatrical  world. 

It  was  in  the  fall  of  1878  that  I  chanced  into  Haverly's 
office  in  the  Fifth  Avenue  Theatre  building  on  a  matter 
of  business  regarding  my  first  trip  to  the  Coast.  In 
his  employ  at  that  time  were  Gustave,  Daniel  and 
Charles  Frohman  and  AI  Hayman.  They  were  the 
representative  staff,  and  Haverly,  from  out  the  quar- 
tette, selected  Gustave  as  his  chief,  considering  him  the 
most  brilliant  of  them  all!  Daniel,  the  present  lessee 
of  the  Lyceum  Theatre,  confined  himself  to  conservative 
hues  and  was  quite  satisfied  to  manage  a  first  class  stock 
company  and  one  or  two  minor  attractions.  Charles 
was  the  Atlas  destined  to  uphold  the  family  name  and 
make  dramatic  history. 

While  planning  the  scheme  that  has  since  made  many 
men  milHonaires  Haverly  httle  dreamed  that  his  rotund 
employee  was  also  eagerly  planning  as  he  unfolded  his 
plans  to  the  others. 

(If  anyone  doubts  that  Haverly  was  the  first  man 
who  first  thought  of  a  theatrical  trust,  he  need  only 
refer  to  an  old  lithograph  showing  this  astute  gentleman 
on  an  elevation  and  in  his  hands  various  wires,  to  the 


Jack  Haverly 

Tbe  man  who  conceived  the  syndicate 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  SYNDICATE  103 

ends  of  which  are  attached  ten  theatres.  Haverly 
controlled  these  houses  and  about  six  attractions. 
There  he  stands,  smiling  and  manipulating  the  wires. 
This  was  the  birth  of  the  syndicate.) 

In  a  few  years  Charles  blossomed  forth  as  a  manager. 
I  think  his  first  winner  was  "Shenandoah,"  written  by 
Bronson  Howard.  The  world  knows  of  his  rapid  ascent, 
so  I  won't  dwell  upon  his  wonderful  and  well  deserved 
success.  I  write  of  the  man  as  I  know  him  and  Charles 
Frohman  is  a  man  among  men.  Yet  he  is  seldom  seen 
among  men!  Only  a  few  are  privileged  to  enjoy  his 
magnetic  society.  I  have  been  one  of  these.  I  have 
met  him  in  my  own  home,  in  England,  in  my  dressing- 
room,  at  his  office,  on  the  stage,  when  he  and  I  were 
producing  plays,  at  dinners,  supper  parties  —  in  fact 
under  every  circumstance  and  in  all  walks  of  life.  And 
he  is  always  the  same  urbane,  kindly,  patient  creature. 
He  laughs  at  faikires  and  runs  from  success  —  rujjs,  but 
only  in  quest  of  another!  He  is  one  of  the  most  scin- 
tillating persons  in  the  world.  Geographical  space 
means  nothing  to  him.  His  word  is  a  contract.  I 
have  never  known  such  perseverance,  industry  and 
thought  combined  in  one  man. 

I  am  one  of  the  few  who  knew  what  he  was  up  against 
when  he  began  his  American  invasion  of  England.  A 
conversation  held  in  my  presence  in  my  home  at  Jack- 
wood,  England,  between  three  men  who  have  since  been 
associated  with  him  advised  me  of  a  conspiracy  to  ruin 
him.  But  Frohman  overcame  them  all,  beat  them  at 
their  own  game  and  his  methods  have  been  imitated 
broadcast  throughout  the  British  Empire.  The  little 
corporal  has  made  himself  a  factor  in  London  and  his 
name  as  a  rule  spells  success. 

He  has  brought  before  the  American  public  the  most 
celebrated  players  of  the  day,  made  so  only  by  his 
undying  energy  and  patience.     I   have  often  regretted 


104  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

that  even  after  I  had  begun  my  career  I  had  not  started 
under  his  management,  for  notwithstanding  his  great 
business  capabilities  he  has  a  naturally  artistic  tempera- 
ment, combined  with  a  wondrous  sense  of  humor  — 
splendid  qualities  in  these  days  of  commercialism. 

One  time,  nearly  twenty-three  years  ago,  I  sent  for 
him  to  come  to  my  residence  on  West  End  Avenue, 
New  York,  with  a  view  of  placing  myself  under  his 
management.  He  listened  very  quietly  as  is  his  custom 
and  when  I  had  finished  asked  how  remunerative  the 
season  I  had  just  closed  had  been.  I  showed  him  my 
books  thinking  that  disclosure  might  lead  to  results. 
After  examining  them  most  carefully  he  placed  them 
gently  upon  the  table  and  with  that  merry  twinkle  in 
his  eyes  his  friends  know  so  well  said, 

**My  dear  boy,  you  don't  require  a  manager;  you 
want  a  lawyer." 

Later  I  played  under  his  management  in  London  and 
I  am  happy  to  say  I  caused  him  no  loss.  The  engage- 
ment was  a  most  happy  one  and  I  look  back  to  the 
association  with  joy. 

During  my  several  engagements  at  his  Knickerbocker 
Theatre  he  was  seldom  in  evidence.  The  first  night  he 
would  take  his  customary  seat  in  the  rear  of  the  balcony 
and  at  the  end  of  the  play  a  slight  knock  would  come  at 
my  dressing-room  door.  "Come  in,"  I  would  say.  The 
door  would  open  and  his  bright,  cheery  face  appear. 
"It's  all  right,"  would  be  the  assurance  and  he  would 
disappear  as  quickly  as  he  came. 

During  the  run  of  "Nathan  Hale"  I  had  not  seen  him 
for  four  or  five  weeks.  One  night  I  came  into  the 
dressing-room,  turned  on  the  electric  light  and  there  he 
sat  in  a  corner,  all  huddled  up.  "What  in  the  world 
are  you  doing  there,  Charley?"  I  asked.  He  quietly 
replied,  "  I  am  casting  a  new  play  and  came  here  to  get 
some  inspiration.     Good  night."  and  away  he  went. 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  SYNDICATE  105 

My  next  association  with  him  was  in  the  production 
of  '*  Beauty  and  the  Barge"  at  the  Lyceum  Theatre.  I 
often  regretted  that  I  had  not  listened  to  his  suggestions 
and  gone  on  the  road  with  the  play,  but  the  sting  of 
defeat  was  too  bitter  and  in  a  hysterical  moment  I 
decided  to  abandon  it. 

He  offered  no  advice,  but,  as  usual,  when  his  stars 
are  unhappy  in  their  roles,  he  left  me  to  determine  the 
fate  of  the  play. 

Charles  Frohman  is  the  most  unselfish  man  whom  I 
have  ever  met  in  the  theatrical  profession.  A  spend- 
thrift, so  far  as  productions  are  concerned,  with  no 
thought  of  pecuniary  results,  no  sordid  desires,  a  slave 
to  his  work,  and  with  a  thorough  appreciation  of  an 
artist's  value,  he  has  done  more  to  increase  actors' 
salaries,  he  has  produced  more  plays  and  received  less 
reward  than  any  manager  in  the  world.  The  history  of 
the  American  stage  will  be  incomplete  unless  the  name 
of  Charles  Frohman  stands  conspicuous  among  the 
many. 

Will  history  do  the  little  corporal  justice? 

I  wonder! 

About  the  time  that  the  idea  of  Haverly's  began 
scintillating  along  the  horizon  it  became  noised  about 
that  a  theatrical  syndicate  was  to  be  formed  —  to  make 
the  booking  of  tours  less  irksome;  to  guarantee  con- 
tinued time  in  the  cities;  to  amalgamate  forces  which 
would  lessen  the  burden  of  the  actor-manager  —  in  fact 
everything  would  be  done  to  enhance  the  success  of 
both  player  and  producer. 

The  Napoleonic  Erianger  was  the  instigator  and 
promoter  of  the  finally  adopted  scheme  and  he  was  aided 
by  the  subtle  Klaw,  whom  I  had  previously  known  in 
Louisville  as  a  reporter  —  a  silent,  but  ever  watchful 
person.  Associated  w^th  these  clever  gentlemen  were 
the  elusive  AI  Hayman,  then  a  wealthy  and  powerful 


106  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

man;  Rich  and  Harris,  of  Boston  and  Nixon  and 
Zimmerman,  of  Philadelphia.  This  sextette  made  a 
very  powerful  organization. 

Being  possessed  of  a  Httle  business  instinct  I  saw  the 
danger,  or  rather  the  supposed  danger,  that  lurked 
behind  these  Samaritans  of  the  drama,  but  not  until  I 
was  approached  by  Mr.  Rapley  of  Washington,  Charlie 
Ford  of  Baltimore  and  one  or  two  suburban  managers 
did  I  realize  what  was  in  the  power  of  this  coterie  if  they 
succeeded  in  carrying  out  their  schemes.  Those  man- 
agers realized  their  peril  and  were  quietly  soliciting  the 
stars  not  to  play  at  any  other  theatres  save  theirs,  as 
they  feared  the  Syndicate  would  book  the  then  strong 
attractions  at  opposition  houses,  offering  as  an  induce- 
ment better  terms  and  time.  Being  loyal,  as  I  have 
always  tried  to  be,  I  assured  them  that  I  would  stick. 
Then  it  occurred  to  me  that  if  I  could  organize  a  syndi-. 
cate  of  players  we  might  be  able  to  strangle  the  con- 
templated move  at  its  very  birth. 

I  succeeded  in  interesting  Joseph  Jefferson,  William 
H.  Crane,  Stuart  Robson,  Sol  Smith  Russell,  Richard 
Mansfield,  Fanny  Davenport,  Francis  Wilson,  Modjeska, 
J.  K.  Emmet  and  four  or  five  other  leading  players  — 
and  they  all  promised  to  stand  by  me.  We  were  to 
elect  A.  M.  Palmer  president.  I  was  to  be  the  vice- 
president.  We  were  all  to  form  an  incorporated  com- 
pany and  play  as  one  body.  I  even  went  so  far  as  to 
have  the  papers  drawn  up.  I  worked  incessantly  night 
and  day.  I  even  had  sites  picked  out  and  money 
guaranteed  for  theatres  in  Boston,  New  York,  Chicago, 
Cleveland  and  St.  Louis,  providing  I  could  guarantee 
the  appearance  of  these  players  for  five  years. 

Everything  was  going  better  than  I  anticipated  when 
one  day  I  received  my  first  shock.  The  "dear  old 
Dean,"  Mr.  Jefferson,  had  reneged!  He  went  back  on 
e/ery   promise   made   to   me   in   New  Orleans.     Crane, 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  SYNDICATE  107 


T 


after  being  my  guest  for  a  week  in  Baltimore,  goin 
over  every  detail  and  agreeing  that  it  was  "a  great 
scheme,"  quietly  and  unknown  to  me  signed  a  three- 
years'  contract  with  Joseph  Brooks,  a  representative  of 
the  Syndicate.  One  by  one  they  all  left  me,  with  the 
single  exception  of  Francis  Wilson,  who  had  to  stay, 
as  he  had  been  blacklisted  by  Nixon  and  Zimmerman 
with  whom  he  had  quarreled. 

I  was  disgusted  and  quietly  folded  my  tent  and  de- 
parted for  Europe  to  ponder  over  the  ass  I  had  made  of 
myself  and  to  wonder  what  the  Syndicate  would  do  to 
me  by  way  of  a  punishment  I  so  richly  deserved. 

Imagine  my  surprise  when  Abe  Erlanger  called  me 
into  his  office  one  morning  after  my  return  from  Europe 
and  after  greeting  me  most  cordially  said,  **WelI,  my 
boy,  you  didn't  pull  that  thing  off."  I  answered,  "No, 
but  I  tried  hard,  Abe,  I  can  tell  you."  He  said,  **I 
know  you  did.  Some  of  your  companions  have  lied  to 
me,  and  they  will  get  their's,  but  you  have  told  me  the 
truth  and  the  Syndicate  will  always  be  your  friend;  at 
least  ril  be.  Your  terms  will  always  be  the  same,  no 
matter  what  you  have  to  offer,  your  tours  booked  and 
all  your  business  done  through  this  office  without 
charge." 

The  Syndicate  has  kept  faith  with  me,  with  but  one 
exception.  Only  one  man  out  of  the  eight  has  broken 
faith  with  me.  They  are  all,  barring  this  particular 
one,  my  personal  friends. 

I  would  rather  have  Abe  Erlanger's  word  than  a 
contract  from  Rockefeller. 

After  all,  what  a  silly  fight  I  contemplated  making 
and  what  a  blessing  it  turned  out  that  I  did  not  con- 
summate it.  The  theatrical  syndicate  has  in  fifteen 
years  made  more  actors  and  managers  rich,  improved 
the  drama  to  a  greater  extent,  built  more  theatres  and 
increased   patronage   more   consistently   than   has   been 


io8  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

accomplished  by  any  other  factor  during  the  last 
century. 

r  The  only  fault  that  I  have  to  find  with  the  Syndicate 
is  that  through  its  dignified  and  thorough  business-like 
methods  it  has  made  the  theatrical  profession  so  alluring 
that  unreliable  imitations  have  broken  through  the 
windows  of  the  drama  and  allowed  the  draughts  of  un- 
savory methods  to  permeate  the  stage. 

Other  so-called  syndicates  have  sprung  up  and 
nauseated  the  thinking  public  with  vulgar  and  obscene 
plays  which,  I  am  sorry  to  admit,  some  seem  to  fancy. 

But  everything  will  adjust  itself  in  time  and  the 
theatrical  syndicate,  headed  by  the  brainy  Erianger, 
will  destroy  all  enemies  of  the  drama.  Honest  plays 
and  playwrights  will  receive  their  just  dues,  wholesome 
plays  will  be  in  vogue,  and  the  names  of  Klaw  and 
Erianger  will  be  synonyms  for  Honesty  and  Justice. 


Chapter  XIX 

STARS 

O  be  a  star  to-day  an  actor  needs  only  to 
be  featured  in  large  type  in  all  advertis- 
ing matter.  At  least  this  is  all  that  is 
necessary  to  win  popular  acceptance  as 
a  star.  That  such  undeserved,  mis- 
applied, wrongful  foistering  of  mediocre 
actors  on  a  long  suffering  public  is  unwise  is  self-evident. 
The  antagonism  it  provoked  among  authors  and  man- 
agers is  quite  justified. 

All  true  artists  object  to  the  featuring  of  incom- 
petency fostered  by  notoriety.  The  men  and  women  of 
the  stage  who  entered  the  profession  through  the  small 
door  and  not  the  open  broad  window  protest  with  much 
vehemence  against  the  launching  of  a  so-called  "star" 
who,  because  of  some  act  of  violence,  the  singing  of  a 
rotten  song  with  an  attractive  melody,  a  beautiful  face, 
a  German  accent,  becomes  born  over  night.  But  the 
managers  who  are  now  objecting  to  this  kind  of  starring 
system  are  the  very  ones  who  inaugurated  the  iniquity. 
I  maintain  that  when  a  man  or  woman  has  attained 
a  position  on  the  stage  through  honest  endeavor,  mental 
application,  strict  attention,  conscientious  study  and 
practical  experience,  he  should  be  rewarded  and  recom- 
pensed. And  these  gains  should  be  conspicuous  and 
financially  worth  while. 

Among  many  of  the  so-called  producers  of  to-day  there 
seems  a  prevailing  tendency  to  decry  and  belittle  the 
starring  system.     This  is  all  very  well  from  their  point 

109 


no  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

of  view.  If  they  succeed  in  making  the  star  subservient 
to  the  author  and  to  those  who  "present,"  they  will  add 
more  to  their  respective  coffers  by  confiscating  the 
financial  share  of  those  men  and  women  who  have  in 
the  past  made  them  rich. 

They  base  their  theories  (that  stars  do  not  make 
successes)  on  the  fact  of  the  success  of  such  plays  as 
"The  Lion  and  the  Mouse,"  "Bought  and  Paid  For," 
"The  Heir  to  the  Hoorah,"  "Seven  Days,"  "Paid  in 
Full"  and  a  half  dozen  more.  With  the  possible  ex- 
ception of  "Bought  and  Paid  For"  most  all  of  these 
so-called  starless  plays  were  accidental  successes. 

"The  Lion  and  the  Mouse"  was  turned  down  by  sev- 
eral stars  and  as  many  managers  and  I  consider  rightly 
so.  When  the  stars  refused  to  accept  it,  the  managers 
followed  suit.  Ethically,  and  in  spite  of  its  remarkably 
successful  financial  success,  I  consider  it  a  most  im- 
probable play.  I  refused  to  play  the  leading  part  in 
London,  predicting  its  failure.  London  can  distinguish 
between  a  good  and  bad  play.  "The  Lion  and  the 
Mouse"  was  a  failure  in  London. 

There  are  some  plays  in  which  the  characters  are  so 
equal  that  it  is  unwise  to  feature  any  particular  one,  as 
the  public  expects  too  much  from  the  one  conspicuous 
in  the  billing  and  being  disappointed  —  dislikes  the 
play.  Not  only  the  play  suffers  but,  when  the  unlooked 
for  happens  and  some  unknown  person  suddenly  makes 
a  hit  in  a  play  in  which  a  star  is  featured,  the  star 
naturally  suffers.     The  public  never  differentiates. 

When  "The  Heir  to  the  Hoorah"  was  submitted  to  me 
I  told  Paul  Armstrong,  the  author,  that  it  would  be 
unwise  to  star  any  one  in  his  plays  and  he  took  my 
advice.  "Bought  and  Paid  For"  was  written  for  a  star, 
but  the  author  unwittingly  wrote  another  part  that 
proved  more  acceptable  to  the  public  than  the  character 
he   originally   intended   should   be   featured.     The  play 


STARS  1 1 1 

was  eventually  produced  without  a  star  and  proved  a 
success.  Perhaps  had  a  different  star  been  selected  at 
the  beginning  there  would  have  been  a  different  story 
told.  In  spite  of  the  success  of  "Bought  and  Paid  For'* 
in  New  York,  "Baby  Mine"  played  a  week  in  Los  An- 
geles (with  Marguerite  Clarke  featured)  to  more  than  two 
thousand  doHars  more  than  "Bought  and  Paid  For." 

The  manuscript  of  "Paid  in  Full"  kept  the  author 
warm  for  many  nights  as  he  slumbered  on  the  benches 
of  the  parks  in  New  York.  And  the  stars  refused  to 
comfort  him.  "Paid  in  Full"  was  an  accidental  hit,  but 
it  created  a  star  —  TuIIy  Marshall 

Clyde  Fitch  read  "The  Chmbers"  to  me  many  years 
before  Henry  Harris  decided  to  produce  it.  Almost 
every  manager  in  New  York  had  turned  it  down.  The 
excellent  acting  of  that  play  saved  it.  From  the  cast 
sprang  such  stars  as  Robert  Edeson,  Clara  Bloodgood, 
Amelia  Bingham  and  Minnie  Dupree. 

The  average  author  and  manager  of  to-day  are  prone  to 
advertise  themselves  as  conspicuously  as  the  play  (as  if 
the  public  cared  a  snap  who  wrote  the  play  or  who  "pre- 
sents"!). I  doubt  if  five  per  cent  of  the  public  know  who 
wrote  "The  Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray,"  "In  Mizzoura"  or 
"Richelieu,"  but  they  know  their  stage  favorites. 

I  wonder  how  many  mantels  are  adorned  with  pictures 
of  the  successful  dramatist  and  those  who  "present" 
and  how  many  there  are  on  which  appear  Maude  Adams, 
Dave  Warfield,  Billie  Burke,  John  Drew,  Bernhardt, 
Duse  and  hundreds  of  other  distinguished  players. 

No  matter  how  hard  you  may  strive  to  strangle  the 
successful  star  player,  Messrs.  Author  and  Manager,  you 
won't  succeed.  You  may  succeed  in  fostering  a  few  more 
plays  without  a  star  but  the  clouds  will  surely  come  and, 
when  they  disburse,  the  accidents  that  caused  them 
will  give  way  before  intelligence.  The  stars  will  twinkle 
again  more  resplendent  than  ever  and  light  you  once 


112  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

more  to  the  road  that  leads  to  permanent  success.  You 
may  trade  and  barter  but  you  will  finally  be  made  to 
understand  that  ours  is  a  profession  in  which  sentiment 
plays  a  most  important  part  and  when  you  insist  on 
robbing  the  public  of  its  favorite  player,  the  disappoint- 
ment will  be  as  bitter  as  when  the  little  boy  is  told 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  Santa  Claus. 

Now  ril  take  the  commercial  side  of  the  question. 
I'll  venture  the  opinion  that  Dave  Warfield  and  Maude 
Adams  play  each  season  to  double  the  receipts  any  play 
without  a  star  ever  earned.  The  Cincinnati  Festival, 
composed  only  of  stars,  in  one  week  played  to  more 
than  one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  Booth  and  Barrett 
cleared  over  six  hundred  thousand  dollars  net  in  one 
season.  Henry  Irving  took  away  from  America  in  one 
season  three  hundred  thousand,  Bernhardt  averages  a 
quarter  of  a  million  net  on  every  farewell  tour.  The 
average  successful  star  up  to  five  years  ago  (before  the 
influx  of  the  so-called  producers,  the  authors  who 
feature  themselves  and  those  who  "present")  counted 
it  a  bad  year  if  his  profits  failed  to  reach  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars. 

I  wonder  how  much  Charles  Frohman  has  made  v/ith 
his  stars! 

And  now  let  us  face  a  fact  that  is  indisputable  — 
business  is  very  bad. 

Ten  years  ago  a  ten  thousand  dollar  week  was  con- 
sidered only  a  good  one.  To-day  it  is  an  event.  Even 
poor  little  I  played  to  over  fifteen  thousand  and  no  fuss 
was  made  about  it.  Let  me  hear  the  name  of  a  single 
successful  play  without  a  star  of  to-day  that  averages 
eight  thousand  per  week. 

I  wonder  if  people  go  to  see  clever  George  Cohan  or 
George  Cohan's  play? 

I  consider  it  an  insult  and  audacity  for  any  manager 
to  assert  that  the  starring  system  is  a  menace  to  the 


In  the  Gold  Mine 

My  get-up  in  The  Gold  Mine 


STARS  113 

theatre  when  almost  every  leading  theatre  of  Europe 
heads  the  cast  with  the  name  of  a  conspicuous  player. 
Every  first-class  theatre  in  London  for  the  last  fifty 
years,  from  Kean  to  Irving,  has  owed  its  success  to  one 
bright  particular  star. 

If  any  manager  in  America  would  like  to  try  the 
experiment  I  would  be  willing  to  make  a  wager  that  I 
will  take  the  most  successful  stock  play  now  running  in 
any  city  in  the  world,  go  to  any  town  or  city  in  America 
and  with  a  star  double,  yes  treble  the  receipts  of  the 
stock  organization  presenting  the  same  play. 

Again  let  me  ask  the  author  and  those  w^ho  "present" 
as  to  the  longevity  of  a  stock  play  as  compared  with 
that  of  the  pfay  in  which  a  star  appears.  Also  how 
about  the  returns  from  a  revival  of  both?  In  the  all 
star  revival  of  "The  Rivals"  we  averaged  five  thousand 
dollars  a  performance. 

Did  the  public  go  to  see  the  players  or  the  play? 

I  wonder. 

How  many  knew  the  author  or  Joseph  Brooks  who 
presented  us? 

I  wonder! 

Again  let  me  ask  the  great  author  and  those  who 
"present,"  those  commercial  gentlemen  who  seek  to 
crucify  the  star,  what  inducement  they  offer  the  young 
beginner  in  the  way  of  a  future.  Are  all  the  budding 
geniuses  to  be  strangled  at  their  birth,  their  dreams  to 
be  made  delusions?  Are  they  to  have  no  chance  to 
gratify  their  ambitions,  only  the  remote  possibility  of 
being  one  of  an  ensemble?  You  are  trying  to  rob  the 
public  of  its  favorite  player,  to  destroy  all  individuality, 
to  make  us  a  melting-pot,  a  cesspool  of  ensemble,  sub- 
ject to  your  will  and  dictation.  It  is  a  pretty  tall  order, 
my  friends,  and  be  careful  lest  you  who  would  destroy 
be  not  destroyed. 

If  the  stars   are   forbidden   to  shine   it   is   their  own 


114  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

fault.  If  only  twenty  would  band  themselves  together 
(and  it  can  be  done)  I'd  guarantee  to  finance  the  scheme 
with  half  a  million  dollars.  If  they  would  form  a 
syndicate,  I  would  guarantee  to  drive  these  impertinent 
gentlemen  into  the  clouds  of  obhvion  from  which  they 
sprang  and  the  httle  and  big  stars  would  form  a  con- 
stellation that  would  maintain  the  dignity  of  our 
glorious  profession! 


Chapter  XX 
ATMOSPHERIC  PLAYS 


LjT  was  some  sage  of  long  ago  who  wrote: 

"The  muse  of  painting  should  be,  on  the  stage,  the 
handmaid,  not  the  sister  nor  rival  of  the  drama." 

I  quite  agree  with  the  gentleman  who 
penned  those  lines.  I  disagree  with  any 
suggestion  or  device  that  dwarfs  the  beauty  and  art  of 
a  play.  That  is  why  I  strenuously  object  to  the  term 
''atmosphere"  as  apphed  to  any  of  our  present  day 
productions.  It  is  only  a  cloak  and  an  excuse  to  con- 
ceal incompetency. 

Let  the  scenery  be  well  painted,  attractive  and  fitted 
to  the  frame,  but  don't  take  off  your  roof  to  pile  Pehon 
upon  Ossa!  Endeavor  to  please  the  eye  —  with  pro- 
cessions and  real  running  water,  if  you  like,  but  keep  all 
in  due  subordination  to  the  acting.  Reahsm  was 
strangled  after  some  ungodlj'-  years  of  struggling  Hfe. 
For  a  time  acting  became  subservient  to  railroad  trains, 
buzz  saws  and  waterfalls.  Ships  were  sunk  in  full  view 
of  the  audience,  ice  floats  cracked  and  dialogue  was 
smothered  in  the  dust  of  stage  cloth  and  salt.  Public 
opinion  soon  demonstrated  this  was  wrong.  "Bertha  the 
Sewing  Machine  Girl"  was  relegated  to  the  farm  to  ascer- 
tain "Why  Women  Sin"  until  laundered  Hebraic  man- 
agers rescued  those  ladies  and  atmospheric  plays  became 
the  vogue. 

During  the  year  191 1  I  had  splendid  opportunities  for 
reflection,  retrospect  and  thought,  finding  consolation  in 

books  pertaining  to  the  drama  of  the  past,  present  and 

115 


Ii6  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

future.  I  have  found  great  consolation  in  going  over 
the  theatrical  situation  under  existing  conditions.  True, 
I  note  the  devasting  results  of  commercialism,  the  self- 
interested  remarks  regarding  the  welfare  of  the  drama 
(and  all  concerned  in  it),  the  fac^  that  too  many  theatres 
are  being  built  by  managers  and  stars  (with  disgusting 
flaunting  of  the  means  employed  to  construct  these 
playhouses). 

I  have  noticed  this  and  I  have  marvelled.  But  I 
found  rehef  in  reviewing  the  conditions  of  long  ago. 
More  than  three  hundred  years  have  played  havoc  with 
the  theatres  truly.  The  men  of  Shakespeare's  time  are 
no  more  —  and  few  worthy  successors  have  been  born. 
That  "inspired  intellectual  spendthrift,"  as  Shakespeare 
was  called  by  Robert  IngersoII,  failed  to  measure  the 
wonder  of  the  journey  to  be  traversed.  I  discover  that 
we  have  gone  back,  artistically,  in  the  last  fifty  years. 

The  only  atmosphere  in  the  theatre  of  Shakespeare 
was  furnished  by  the  hooting,  jostling  crowd  as  it  wended 
its  way  over  London  bridge  for  a  night  at  the  Fox 
Under  the  Hill,  to  be  joined  later  on  by  the  "merry 
fellow"  and  his  companions  at  the  Falcon  or  Mermaid. 
No  doubt  they  criticised  his  play  to  their  own,  if  not 
his  entire  satisfaction.  However,  irrespective  of  any  of 
their  opinions  and  without  "atmosphere,"  these  criti- 
cisms apparently  had  the  same  value  as  the  condemna- 
tions of  the  self-styled  censors  of  our  modern  theatre 
and  its  players. 

What  does  it  matter  after  all?  In  the  words  of  Ben 
Jonson,  "Let  them  know  the  author  defies  them  and 
their  writing  tables!" 

One  never  heard  of  atmospheric  plays  in  my  early 
life.  It  is  a  delightful  coinage.  Personally  I  prefer  the 
aeriform  fluid  in  front  of  the  curtain.  I  never  discovered 
the  intrinsic  value  of  a  painting  in  a  fog,  neither  did  a 
frame  ever  enhance  its  value.     I  want  the  playhouse  to 


ATMOSPHERIC  PLAYS  117 

furnish  its  own  nitrogen,  oxygen,  carbon  dioxide  and 
other  organic  matter  before  the  play  is  produced. 
Then  let  the  performance  proceed  on  its  merits,  sans 
atmosphere. 

Widen  your  stage  to  allow  your  forests  to  be  seen; 
paint  your  oceans  to  How  into  space,  apparently  inter- 
minable; dress  your  characters  as  befits  the  times,  with 
corresponding  architecture,  but,  for  heaven's  sake, 
don't  add  incense  to  injury!  Let  the  play  proceed  and 
the  dialogue  be  heard;  let  your  ear  as  well  as  the  eye, 
decide  the  verdict  and  devote  whatever  atmosphere  you 
consider  necessary  to  the  Theatre  proper,  as  did  Irving, 
the  colossal.  When  one  entered  the  portals  of  the 
London  Lyceum  Theatre,  as  managed  by  Henry  Irving, 
one  felt  that  sense  of  intellectual  environment  and  culti- 
vating influence  experienced  on  entering  Notre  Dame. 

A  theatre  will  lose  its  atmosphere  when  the  lessee 
vacates  the  premises  just  as  a  small  town  will  when  the 
inhabitants  leave  it.  We  remember  the  cities  that 
appealed  to  us  in  early  life  and  note  the  changes  that 
advancement  and  progress  have  made  architecturally. 
Maybe  we  admire  the  improvements,  but  that  charm  of 
something  has  vanished.  What  is  it?  Some  will  an- 
swer, "Atmosphere."  I  say,  "the  people"  —  those  who 
talked  and  invented  the  architecture  and  painting  of  the 
earlier  day. 

We  want  a  Papin  or  a  Newcombe  to  give  us  back  the 
so-called  atmosphere  of  our  youth,  but  that  kind  of 
atmosphere  talked  and  said  something. 


Chapter  XXI 
ACTORS   PAST  AND   PRESENT 


N  this  era  of  dramatic  chaos  the  question 
often  arises,  "How  would  the  actors  of 
the  past  compare  with  those  of  the 
present?" 

It  is  a  motley  question,  and  one  that 
requires  careful  consideration  in  the 
answer.  In  our  youth,  we  are  prone  to  worship  those 
who  occupy  a  sphere  above  us.  Youth  is  always  demon- 
strative and  always  partial.  Therefore  views  form.ed  at 
that  time  are  apt  to  influence  our  opinions  in  after  hfe. 
To  b*e  honest  we  must  discard  early  impressions,  accept 
existing  conditions  as  they  materiahze  and  allow  our 
judgment  full  sway  only  after  a  thorough  retrospect  and 
careful  analysis  of  what  we  considered  great  in  our 
youth. 

I  but  mildly  assert  things,  full  reahzing  the  status  of 
the  modern  player,  his  wealth,  position  and  social 
standing.  I  put  him  in  comparison  with  the  actors  of 
other  days  carefully! 

And  I  am  convinced  we  have  retrograded,  so  far  as 
the  serious  and  tragic  are  concerned.  Also  we  have 
materially  advanced  in  comedy  and  specialty  work. 
The  legitimate  comedian  of  to-day  I  consider  far  in 
advance  of  his  elder  brother.  He  is  cleaner,  more 
human,  of  hghter  touch  and  more  subtle. 

We  have  advanced  more  rapidly  from  even  my  time 
than  we  did  from  the  '30's  to  the  '70's.     From  the  days 

of  William  E.  Burton  and  the  Owens  and  Jefferson  era 

118 


IN    MEyyVpRIAM  .  ^^^ 


Those  Were  the  Happy  Days 


ACTORS  PAST  AND  PRESENT  119 

the  advance  has  been  most  pronounced.  Dialogue  and 
stage  business  which  were  in  vogue  even  as  late  as  1880 
would  not  be  tolerated  now.  They  were  not  as  particu- 
lar regarding  comedy  as  they  were  in  the  serious  drama. 
The  licentious  portions  of  Shakespeare's  plays  were 
eliminated  after  (but  long  after!)  the  Elizabethan  era. 
No  doubt  the  serious  dramatist  and  actor  took  their 
cues  from  that  procedure  and  the  result  was  clean  and 
dignified  performances.     But  comedy  suffered. 

I  am  sure  a  play  hke  "The  Easiest  Way"  would  never 
have  gone  beyond  the  dress  rehearsal,  as  much  as  they 
admired  the  serious  drama. 

The  serious  actor  always  held  sway.  He  was  the 
axle  upon  which  the  wheels  of  the  theatre  were  put  in 
motion.  Consequently  the  goal  of  acting  of  the  aspiring 
Alexanders  was  the  realm  of  tragedy  and  the  market 
was  overrun.  The  result  —  a  Garrick,  a  George  Fred- 
erick Cooke,  two  Keans,  a  Macready,  a  Forrest,  three 
Booths,  a  Gustavus  Brooke,  an  Edwin  Adams,  a  Daven- 
port, a  McCuIIough,  an  Irving,  a  Possart,  a  Salvini,  a 
Phelps,  a  Rossi!  And  the  words  of  WiHiam  Shakespeare 
came  down  the  years  until  comedy,  properly  portrayed, 
came  gaily  alongside  the  stateher  craft  and  with  laughter 
sank  the  ship  of  tears,  leaving  only  one  survivor  — 
Robert  Mantell! 

(And,  really,  with  all  the  respect  that  I  have  for 
Robert's  miraculous  art  I  must  give  my  youth  the 
benefit  of  the  doubt  and  award  the  victory  to  those 
departed  gentlemen  who  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  years 
piloted  the  works  of  the  immortal  bard  towards  the 
shores  of  prosperity!) 

If  they  failed  to  receive  the  compensation  that  is  now 
conferred  upon  their  comic  (and  comical)  brothers  they 
have  at  least  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  they 
brought  their  art  up  to  the  standard  of  the  greatest. 

Now  this  question  arises:    Has  the  comic  (and  comi- 


120  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

cal)  brother  kept  faith  with  his  dead  sponsor  while  he 
has  leaped  over  the  form  of  his  serious  predecessor? 
Has  he  maintained  the  dignity  of  the  drama?  He  will 
answer,  "Of  course!  We  are  living  in  the  era  of  pro- 
gression. Comedy  is  a  success!  All  the  world  is 
laughing!  Success!  Success!  We  are  superior  to  those 
who  have  gone  before!     We  make  the- world  laugh!" 

And  the  judicious  grieve! 

But  Time  looks  sadly  down  upon  the  merry  makers 
and  the  measured  swing  of  the  pendulum  of  thought 
and  argument  questions,  "How  long  will  it  last?" 

I  wonder! 


Chapter  XXII 
MAUDE  ADAMS 


,  t 


OW  fitting  that  It  should  have  been 
Maude  Adams  to  create  the  title  role  in 
"Peter  Pan!"  For,  truly,  here  is  the 
living  personification  of  the  human  who 
will  never  "grow  up."  Because  this  is 
so  I  have  no  hesitancy  in  setting  down 
here  the  fact  that  the  first  time  I  saw  Miss  Adams  play 
a  part  was  in  1887! 

It  was  previous  to  my  production  of  "The  Nominee" 
while  I  was  looking  about  for  an  adequate  cast  that  I 
chanced  to  meet  Charlie  Hoyt  one  day.  He  was  then 
successfully  producing  a  new  line  of  farce  comedies  and 
he  asked  me  to  witness  the  first  production  of  one  of  his 
plays,  "A  Midnight  Bell."  In  the  cast  were  Isabel  Coe, 
who  afterwards  became  Mrs.  Frank  McKee,  Paul 
Arthur  and  Maude  Adams.  With  the  exception  of  Paul 
Arthur  no  one  in  the  cast  was  particularly  notable. 

Those  three  players  appealed  to  me  and  I  endeavored 
to  secure  their  services,  first  ascertaining  how  long  they 
were  contracted  for  with  Hoyt.  I  succeeded  in  procur- 
ing contracts  with  Miss  Coe  and  Arthur,  but  failed  in 
my  endeavors  to  secure  Miss  Adams  as  she  Insisted  upon 
her  mother  accompanying  her.  As  Estelle  Mortimer 
was  engaged  for  the  roles  of  old  women  in  my  company 
I  could  not  see  my  v/ay  clear  and  much  to  my  regret  I 
was  forced  to  resign  Miss  Adams  to  other  managers. 
Arthur  and  Miss  Coe  appeared  with  me  in  "The  Gold 

Mine,"  a  play  of  which  I  had  the  splendid  fortune  to 

121 


122  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

get  control  on  the  death  of  Johnny  Raymond,  who 
produced  it  originally.  Arthur  is  now  spending  his  time 
racing  in  England,  playing  bridge  and  now  and  then 
appearing  in  light  comedy  roles  in  London.  I  have 
always  considered  Paul  a  most  agreeable  player.  Miss 
Coe  has  long  since  retired,  Maude  Adams  still  continues 
making  history  for  herself  and  is  to-day,  as  we  all  know, 
the  most  conspicuous  actress  in  America,  drawing  the 
largest  receipts  of  any  actress  in  the  world. 

What  a  splendid  httle  artist  she  is! 

"You  are  missing  the  sweetest  thing  on  earth  — 
romance,"  said  Maude  Adams  in  Barrie's  play  ''What 
Every  Woman  Knows." 

With  what  significance  did  those  lines  strike  me  while 
watching  that  clever  little  woman  one  afternoon.  The 
house  was  packed,  women  were  weeping  and  laughing 
with  her.  At  the  fall  of  every  curtain  it  was  raised  and 
raised  again.  The  little  artist  would  bow  demurely, 
coyly  acknowledge  the  compliments  bestowed  upon  her 
work  and  then  shuffle  to  her  dressing-room.  I  found  her 
there  during  one  of  the  intermissions  and  chatted  a  few 
moments  with  her. 

Eight  years  before  we  had  met  in  Switzerland.  While 
her  figure  and  manner  had  changed  but  little  I  could 
not  help  but  notice  the  sharpness  of  feature  which  the 
eight  years  had  chiseled  upon  her  face.  The  promissory 
note  demanded  by  eight  years  of  success  must  be  liqui- 
dated and  the  principal  paid.  The  law  of  compensation 
must  be  obeyed.  The  little  furrows  on  her  tiny  face 
were  accentuated  by  the  lustre  of  her  large,  blue-gray 
eyes  that  looked  into  yours  as  though  they  could  pene- 
trate into  the  recesses  of  your  very  soul. 

When  she  talked  it  was  with  a  little  jerky  delivery 
that  plainly  showed  she  had  herself  under  perfect  con- 
trol and  knew  whereof  she  spoke.  The  secluded  life 
she  leads,  I  am  told,  has  given  her  much  time  to  devote 


MAUDE  ADAMS  123 

to  her  art  and  study  of  the  masters.  One  must  do 
something  besides  act  when  not  appearing  in  repertoire. 
The  intelligence  expressed  in  her  work  plainly  indicates 
the  thought  she  has  bestowed  upon  it. 

I  consider  Maude  Adams  one  of  the  best  Enghsh 
speaking  actresses  on  the  stage  to-day.  She  has  an 
appeaHng,  modulated  voice,  is  easy  of  carriage,  graceful, 
has  the  power  of  expressing  deep  emotion  and  any 
quantity  of  comic  power,  combined  with  nice  repose. 
These  quahfications  make  an  actress. 

Miss  Adams  has  enthralled  the  pubhc  of  the  United 
States;  her  name  is  a  household  word;  she  stands  for 
all  that  represents  true  and  virtuous  womanhood;  at 
the  zenith  of  her  fame  she  has  woven  her  own  mantle 
and  placed  it  about  the  pedestal  upon  which  she  stands, 
alone.  And  yet  as  I  looked  into  those  fawn-like  eyes  I 
wondered!  With  all  her  powers,  envied"  by  the  many, 
rich  in  worldly  goods  —  did  those  searching  liquid  orbs 
denote  complete  happiness?  I  felt  like  taking  those 
tiny  little  artistic  hands  in  mine  and  saying,  "Little 
woman,  I  fear  you  are  unconsciously  missing  the 
sweetest  thing  in  life  —  romance." 

Would  she  exchange  one  for  the  other? 

I  wonder! 

January,  igii 

What  a  commentary  on  the  existing  commercialism  of 
our  stage  is  the  present  performance  of  "Chantecler"  at 
the  Knickerbocker  Theatre,  New  York!  What  a  farce 
is  the  selection  of  the  dainty,  clever  Maude  Adams  as 
the  scapegoat  for  the  anticipated  failure  that  is  certain 
to  ensue! 

There  is  no  gainsaying  the  fact  that  after  the  novelty 
of  the  production  wore  off  "Chantecler"  failed  in  Paris. 
London,  after  viewing  it,  said  "Not  for  mine!" 

Coquelin  spoke  of  the  play  to  me  twelve  years  ago. 
Think  of  it!     The  play  was  in  embryo  then  and  Rostand 


124  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

selected  Coquelin  to  create  the  role  later  played  by 
Maude  Adams! 

After  Coquelin's  death  Guitry,  that  sterling  French 
player,  created  the  character.  Notwithstanding  even 
his  tremendous  abilities,  Rostand  and  the  critics  dis- 
covered that  he  was  not  the  man  for  the  part.  The 
underl3ang  meaning  of  the  part  was  sacrificed.  Bom- 
bastic display  usurped  the  subtle  humor  intended  by 
the  author.  Cynical  humor  was  stifled  by  the  declama- 
tory Guitry. 

But  waiving  all  criticism  of  Guitry,  by  what  power 
of  monstrous  reasoning  could  anv  manager  select  Maude 
Adams  to  play  a  role  acted  by  Guitry  and  written  for 
Coquelin? 

When  London  put  "Chantecler**  in  the  discard  our 
own  astute  Charles  Frohman  — of  whom  I  am  very  fond 
(and  I  assure  my  readers  that  I  am  not  censuring  him 
for  he  is  quite  right  from  his  point  of  \-iew)  and  who 
had  an  option  on  the  play  —  realized  he  must  produce 
it  or  incur  tlie  enmity  of  the  entire  French  family  of 
authors.  He  was  bound  to  produce  that  play,  submit 
to  the  exorbitant  terms  demanded  by  the  author  and 
make  a  production  equal  to  the  one  in  Paris  or  the 
Parisian  theatre  doors  would  be  closed  against  him. 
He  agreed  to  their  demands,  knowing  that  he  was  up 
against  it  and  sure  to  come  out  a  big  loser.  He  doubt- 
less ruminated,  "I  must  produce  it;    but  how?" 

He  was  thoroughly  assured  that  no  man  in  America 
could  play  the  part! 

Then  it  was  that  this  manager,  after  being  drugged 
with  the  artistic  incense  of  the  Parisian  stage,  became 
suddenly  inspired  to  Grape-Nut  his  property  before  the 
American  public,  Pear's  Soap  his  Chantecler  upon  the 
cleanly  critics,  Mellin's  Food  the  baby  managers  and 
put  his  one  best  bet  down  on  Maude  Adams,  whose 
name  is  as  familiar  as  any  of  these  articles! 


l; 


COQUELIN 

Would  be  bare  gone  in  vaudeville  ?    I  wonder 


MAUDE    ADAMS  125 

Was  this  fair  to  her?  Was  this  fair  to  the  public,  to 
the  author,  to  anyone?  Of  course  not?  Why  be  fair 
with  anything  or  anybody?  If  you  do,  you're  sure  to 
be  found  out  and  the  world  will  write  you  down  an  ass! 
No!  Go  on  with  the  good  work;  don't  stop,  nor  even 
hesitate!  Everybody's  rich!  The  dramatic  merchants 
own  all  the  moving  picture  shows,  musical  comedies, 
burlesques.  They  are  spending  their  profits  in  automo- 
biles! They  are  bedecked  in  sables!  Commerciahsm  is 
running  amuck  while  the  artistic  foreigner  cynically 
observes  and  stands  amazed! 

But  fear  not,  gentle  censors,  the  worst  is  yet  to 
come!  Maggie  Cline  is  contemplating  an  appearance 
in  "Hamlet"  and  Elsie  Janis  may  yet  be  permitted  to 
show  us  the  humor  of  Dogberry! 

Why  not? 

If  the  commercial  gentlemen  who  wield  the  sceptre 
do  but  command  submission  what  does  it  signify  who 
pays  the  price  of  admission? 


Chapter  XXIII 
TYRONE  POWER 


EE!  What  a  bully  actor  Tyrone  Power  is! 


126 


Chapter  XXIV 
AN  ARTISTIC  SUCCESS! 


UST  before  producing  "The  Nominee"  and 
"The  Gold  Mine"  I  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  a  very  fine  fellow,  James  Piggott, 
a  member  of  Mrs.  Langtry's  travelling 
company,  who  had  adopted  the  stage  as 
a  livelihood,  after  having  lost  a  for- 
tune through  the  failure  of  a  bank  in  Manchester, 
England. 

Jimmie,  as  his  friends  were  pleased  to  call  him,  was 
the  personification  of  an  Enghsh  gentleman,  always 
faultlessly  dressed,  gloved  and  caned  at  all  hours.  He 
would  appear  at  the  breakfast  table  in  an  immaculate 
get-up,  including  gloves,  even  in  the  dim  recesses  of 
one-night  stands.  He  always  gave  the  impression  that 
he  had  slept  in  them.  He  had  always  a  kind  word  and 
a  smile  even  under  such  trying  conditions  as  travelling 
in  support  of  "The  Jersey  Lily"  through  the  one-night 
stands  of  the  country. 

It  was  at  this  time  we  met.  He  was  most  unhappy. 
He  had  written  a  play  which  the  managers  to  whom  he 
had  submitted  it  had  failed  to  pass  upon  favorably. 
He  read  it  to  me  and  it  appealed  to  me  very  much.  I 
agreed  to  produce  it  and  put  it  on  for  one  week  at 
Hooley's  Theatre,  Chicago,  where  it  met  with  some 
degree  of  success.  It  had  vivid  local  color,  the  stcry 
being  English,  the  scene  laid  in  England.  It  was  called 
"The  Bookmaker." 


127 


128  NAT   GOODWIN'S    BOOK 

I  produced  it  the  following  }/ear  at  the  Gaiety  Theatre, 
London.  This  was  in  1890,  following  "The  Gold  Mine." 
Both  plays  failed,  but,  personally,  I  made  w^hat  they 
v/ere  pleased  to  call  "an  artistic  success." 

Judging  from  the  receipts  I  would  not  enjoy  an  ar- 
tistic failure! 

Poor  Piggott  was  much  distressed  at  the  reception  of 
his  play  but  was  more  than  courteous  to  me  —  perhaps 
because  of  what  he  considered  my  unquestionable  hit. 
The  play  was  afterwards  revived  by  Edward  Terry  and 
Arthur  Wilhams,  but  "Sacred  to  its  Memory"  is  in- 
scribed over  the  tomb  of  the  departed  "The  Bookmaker." 

While  acting  in  "The  Gold  Mine"  and  "The  Nominee" 
I  became  thoroughly  convinced  that  farce  comedy  was 
doomed,  that  frivohty  was  losing  ground  and  that  the 
pubhc  wanted  comedies  combining  pathos  with  laughter. 
I  found  it  was  becoming  easier  for  me  to  handle  pathetic 
scenes  and  dehver  serious  passages.  I  had  solved  the 
problem.     It  was  simply  a  change  of  method. 

If  I  were  compelled  to  make  a  sudden  transition  from 
gay  to  grave  or  vice  versa  the  secret  lay  in  assuming 
another  tone,  the  discarding  of  a  famihar  gesture  and 
allowing  a  certain  time  to  elapse  before  expressing  the 
emotion,  if  only  for  the  infinitesimal  part  of  a  second. 
Thought  travels  quickly  and  the  eyes  work  in  unison. 
This  must  be  studied,  rehearsed  and  exemphfied  before 
any  comedian  can  hope  for  a  successful  interpretation 
of  roles  combining  humor  and  pathos. 

There  are  a  few  comedians  of  to-day  who  know  the 
art.  Were  it  not  that  I  have  no  desire  to  be  personal 
I  could  name  names  and  make  it  clear  to  the  pubhc 
those  who  don't  know  how.  Among  the  few  who  do 
(and  there  are  only  a  few)  I  might  mention  David 
Warfield,  William  Thompson,  John  Mason,  George  Nash 
and  Eddy  Abies. 

I  was  privileged  to  be  one  of  a  box  party  some  years 


AN  ARTISTIC  SUCCESS  I29 

ago  witnessing  the  performance  of  a  play  which  I  very 
much  desired.  I  had  seen  it  perfectly  performed  in 
Paris  by  a  man  who  knew  everything  pertaining  to  our 
art,  whose  pictures  were  painted  with  all  the  dehghtful 
lights  and  shadows  that  form  a  background  for  those 
capable  of  portraying  comedy  and  pathos. 

This  play  gave  an  actor  every  opportunity  of  por- 
traying all  the  emotions  —  comedy,  tragedy,  farce  and 
sentiment.  The  character  ran  the  dramatic  gamut,  but 
it  required  most  deft  handling,  the  dividing  hues  being 
as  fine  as  silken  threads,  the  transitions  requiring  the 
art  of  a  master.  It  was  a  great  success  in  Paris,  but 
failed  both  in  London  and  New  York.  The  English- 
man and  American  to  whom  this  character  was  entrusted 
were  direct  opposites  in  their  respective  quahfications, 
one  being  a  pronounced  low  comedian,  the  other  a 
character  actor  with  httle,  if  any  idea  of  humor.  The 
Frenchman  combined  all  the  gifts  of  these  two  men 
together  with  the  versatility  which  this  character  re- 
quired. His  success  was  as  pronounced  as  these  gentle- 
men's failures. 

As  I  sat  in  the  box  with  the  star's  wife  at  my  right  I 
waited  with  some  anxiety  and  fear  the  result  of  the 
performance.  My  forebodings  became  realized  as  the 
character  assumed  its  first  serious  aspect.  The  audience 
failed  to  deferentiate  and  a  slight  titter  passed  through 
the  house  as  he  arrived  at  his  first  dramatic,  sentimental 
cHmax.  As  the  play  progressed  I  could  see  the  audience 
manifest  its  displeasure  and  move  uneasily  as  the 
plot  developed.  When  the  crucial  moment  came  —  the 
grand,  tragic,  culminating  scene  of  the  play  in  which 
the  Frenchman  held  his  audience  as  in  a  vise  the  Ameri- 
can audience  simply  smiled,  looked  bored  and  relaxed. 
Instead  of  applause  coming  as  it  should  have  come  at 
the  end  of  the  act,  the  curtain  was  raised  only  through 
the  appreciation  of  the  ushers  at  the  back! 


130  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

The  starts  wife  turned  to  me  and  asked,  "What  is  the 
matter?     Why  can't do  this?" 

"It  is  very  simple,  my  dear  friend,"  I  replied.  "He 
hasn't  solved  the  problem.  He  has  failed  to  change  his 
method." 


Chapter  XXV 
THE  SKATING   RINK 


T  was  some  time  after,  I  forget  the  exact 
date,  that  I  became  associated  with  the 
late  Frank  Sanger  in  the  production  of 
a  farcical   comedy,  called  "The  Skating 
"lll^Jf^^^^jr    Rink."     We  surrounded  ourselves  with  a 
^^  =ir=^    capable  company,  inckiding  Henry  Don- 

nelly, Fanny  Rice,  James  RatcHff,  the  Fletchers,  a  trio 
of  trick  skaters,  Major  Newall  and  others. 

We  opened  in  Buffalo  (where  I  had  the  misfortune  to 
meet  the  second  lady  who  bore  my  name). 

We  opened  to  a  packed  house  and  when  the  curtain 
rang  down  I  credited  myself  with  another  failure.  I 
was  amazed  to  ascertain  the  next  morning  that  I  had 
made  another  "artistic  success."  But  this  time  the 
house  sold  out  for  that  evening  —  also.  I  was  far  from 
being  satisfied,  but  I  was  convinced  that  if  the  public 
fancied  the  material  offered  at  our  opening  I  could  im- 
prove the  entertainment  very  much.  I  so  informed 
Sanger,  suggesting  that  he  book  us  for  four  weeks  at 
Hooley's.  I  guaranteed  to  give  him  an  entirely  new  and 
better  interpretation  of  "The  Skating  Rink"  for  Chicago. 
He  acquiesced  and  started  the  next  day  for  New  York. 
I  called  the  company  together  the  following  evening 
after  the  play  for  a  rehearsal.  My  idea  was  to  ascertain 
if  any  of  the  company  had  a  specialty  that  could  be 
interjected  into  this  porous  play.  It  permitted  all 
sorts  of  pioneering.     The  plot  stopped  at  eight  thirty! 

131 


132  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

One  gentleman  proved  capable  of  swallowing  tlie  butt 
of  a  lighted  cigar  during  the  rendering  of  the  verse  of  a 
song,  allowing  it  to  reappear  before  finishing,  and  re- 
peating the  operation  until  his  stomach  rebelled.  This 
appealed  to  me  and  was  introduced  the  following  even- 
ins;  with  marked  favor! 

I  resuscitated  my  imitations  of  famous  actors  which 
had  been  lying  dormant  for  years. 

Two  or  three  of  the  young  ladies  interpolated  some  of 
the  latest  New  York  ditties,  Fanny  Rice  and  I  cribbing 
the  See-Saw  duet.  I  also  introduced  an  entire  act  of  a 
play  called  ''The  Marionettes,"  assisted  by  one  of  the 
skating  trio,  an  Irish  song  written  by  a  Jew,  "Since 
Maggie  Learned  to  Skate,"  and  a  burlesque  on 
"Camille."     I  appeared  as  the  coughing  heroine! 

By  the  time  we  reached  Chicago  I  had  discarded  all 
of  the  old  manuscript.  The  plot  stopped  a  few  minutes 
earher.     But  I  kept  my  promise  to  Sanger! 

I  worked  hke  a  galley  slave  in  this  polyglot  entertain- 
ment, making  no  less  than  fifteen  changes.  When  not 
on  the  stage,  which  was  but  seldom,  I  was  busy  making 
my  wardrobe  shifts  between  scenes,  my  most  trying 
effort  being  a  very  quick  change  from  the  ball  gown 
(with  all  the  female  accessories,  including  corsets)  of 
Camille  to  the  apparel  of  an  Irish  hod-carrier.  I  made 
the  latter  change  in  less  than  a  minute,  disappearing  as 
the  dying  lady  on  one  side  of  the  stage  to  return  from 
the  opposite  as  the  Irishman  in  search  of  his  daughter, 
Maggie.  The  company,  I  am  pleased  to  say,  made 
distinct  successes  and  received  great  praise  for  their 
individual  efforts. 

A  most  amusing  incident  occurred  during  a  perform- 
ance of  this  play  in  Louisville.  One  of  my  staunchest 
admirers,  named  Eh  Marks,  who  always  regretted  my 
turning  aside  from  serious  drama  to  embark  upon  the 
sands  of  farce,  came  one  night  much  against  his  will  to 


THE  SKATING   RINK  133 

witness  the  performance.  I  met  him  afterwards.  While 
he  was  pleased  with  the  efforts  of  the  company  he  failed 
to  bestow  any  particular  praise  upon  my  playing.  In 
fact  nothing  I  had  done  seemed  to  meet  with  his  favor. 
Of  course  he  liked  my  imitations,  but  he  had  seen  them 
before. 

"By  the  way,  Nat,"  he  said,  **don't  lose  that  Irish- 
man! I  think  he  is  the  best  thing  in  the  whole  show. 
Nothing  you  did  can  compare  with  him!"  I  agreed  and 
gravely  assured  him  that  it  had  caused  me  a  lot  of 
trouble  to  coach  that  man.  **WeII,"  he  concluded, 
**you  are  rewarded  and  don't  lose  him!"  I  promised 
to  keep  him  as  long  as  he  lived. 

Marks  was  afterwards  told  that  he  was  unconsciously 
paying  me  that  compliment,  but  he  refused  to  beheve 
it!  He  made  a  wager  with  the  friends  who  contradicted 
him  and  would  not  assume  the  responsibility  of  the  debt 
until  he  had  come  behind  the  scenes  and  witnessed  my 
change. 

As  I  got  into  the  overalls  and  hurriedly  grabbed  the 
dinner  pail,  he  ejaculated,  "Well,  by  golly,  you  fooled 
me,  old  man,  but  I  am  glad  of  it!  Come  and  sup  with 
us  to-night  at  the  club.  If  you  take  my  advice  you  will 
have  a  play  written  around  the  plot  of  that  song.  You 
are  the  best  hod-carrier  I  ever  saw!" 


Chapter  XXVI 
NUMBER  TWO 


^^G=Ts'BOUT  this  time  I  began  to  weary  of  the 
solitude  of  single  life.  Living  with  dear 
old  John  Mason  in  our  flat  in  Twenty- 
eighth  Street  did  not  appeal  to  me. 
We  were  very  respectable  persons  at 
the  time  and  led  a  most  exemplary  life, 
irrespective  of  the  opinions  in  vogue  concerning  our 
little  Haven  of  Unrest. 

It  was  while  enduring  those  disconsolate  hours  that  I 
became  interested  in  Mrs.  Nella  Baker  Pease,  wife  of  a 
dilettante,  living  in  Buffalo.  She  made  her  appearance 
nightly  at  the  playhouse  where  we  were  performing  and 
made  herself  particularly  conspicuous  by  effusive  ap- 
plause, generally  bestowed  when  the  other  portions  of 
the  audience  had  finished  theirs.  It  was  evident  that 
she  was  discovering  hidden  beauties  in  my  artistic 
efforts.  We  were  finally  introduced  and  became  stead- 
fast friends. 

It  took  me  but  a  little  while  to  discover  that  she  was 
a  gifted  woman,  possessed  of  many  talents,  her  most 
conspicuous  one  being  music.  She  was  the  best  amateur 
piano  player  to  whom  I  have  ever  listened. 

During  my  week's  sojourn  in  Buffalo  I  was  presented 
to  her  mother,  sister,  brother  and  husband.  Her  sister 
was  charming.  I  wish  I  could  say  the  same  of  the  rest 
of  her  family.  The  brother  must  have  emanated  from 
the  same  pod  in  which  the  husband,  Pease,  was  con- 
ceived, or  on  some  coral  reef  where  sponges  predominate. 
He  proved  a  most  absorbing  person. 

134 


Nella  Baker  Pease 

The  best  amateur  piano  player  I  ever  beard 


NUMBER  TWO  135 

I  invited  him  once  to  spend  a  few  days  with  us  in 
New  York.  He  wired  that  he  was  coming  for  "a  cup 
of  tea"  — and  stopped  for  two  years! 

With  my  inherent  divinatory  gift  it  required  but  a 
short  time  for  me  to  satisfy  myself  that  the  little  home 
of  sunshine  occupied  by  the  row  of  Pease  was  in  reahty 
a  whitened  sepulchre.  I  discovered  that  Nella  loathed 
her  husband,  but  with  the  other  members  of  her  proud 
family  was  content  to  Hve  with  him  and  upon  the 
bounty  supphed  by  the  dilettante's  father  (her  hubby's 
papa). 

She  bestowed  no  love,  not  even  respect,  upon  that 
dilettante  hubby.  During  one  of  our  interviews  the 
husband  was  sent  down  town,  her  family  was  called  in 
to  meet  me  and  at  the  earnest  solicitations  of  them  all  I 
promised  to  endeavor  to  aid  her  in  severing  her  matri- 
monial bonds.  I  also  promised  to  fit  her  for  the  stage 
and  to  enhst  the  assistance  of  Steele  Mackaye  who  was 
then  preparing  pupils  for  artistic  careers  and  sunning 
himself  upon  the  porch  of  Delsarte.  After  binding 
myself  with  these  obligations  I  took  my  departure. 

In  a  few  days  I  was  besieged  with  letters  from  Mrs. 
Pease  and  the  family,  earnestly  entreating  me  not  to 
forget  my  promises.  Finally  an  epistle  came  from  the 
husband  endeavoring  to  persuade  me  to  do  something 
for  him! 

I  did,  all  right! 

To  gratify  his  wife's  ambition  would  I  secure  her  an 
opening  on  the  stage  or  put  her  with  some  good  tutor? 
He  would  pay  all  the  expenses,  etc.  Unfortunately  for 
me  I  assumed  this  responsibihty  and  succeeded  in  in- 
teresting my  mother  in  Mrs.  Pease's  behalf,  informing 
her  of  the  harrowing  details.  So  interested  did  my 
mother  become  at  the  recital  of  the  unhappiness  of  this 
young  lady  that  she  invited  her  to  spend  a  few  days  at 
our  Boston  home.     Mrs.   Pease  was  also  fond  of  tea! 


136  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

She  accepted  the  invitation  —  and  remained  for  several 
months.  In  fact  during  her  visit  at  my  mother's  house 
I  had  resumed  my  tour  on  the  road  and  even  made  a 
trip  to  Europe! 

Upon  my  return  I  met  her  in  our  Boston  domicile 
where  we  were  thrown  a  great  deal  into  each  other's 
society.  She  proved  very  attractive,  being  well  edu- 
cated, a  fine  conversationist,  with  a  most  lovable  dis- 
position. Her  compositions  and  execution  upon  the 
piano  were  remarkable  for  an  amateur. 

In  the  meantime  I  had  succeeded  in  interesting 
Mackaye  and  was  about  to  place  her  in  his  charge, 
when,  one  day,  I  was  served  with  papers  from  the 
husband  who  charged  me  with  alienating  his  wife's 
affections!  This  dropped  like  a  bomb-shell  into  our 
little  circle,  as  nothing  was  further  from  my  thoughts 
than  marriage. 

When  the  summons  came  she  took  it  as  a  joke,  say- 
ing, "What  a  splendid  release  from  the  Httle  incubus!" 
Being  at  the  time  interested  in  a  certain  prima  donna 
known  to  fame  (I  might  say  rather  seriously  interested), 
I  confessed  to  a  non-appreciative  state  of  mind  regarding 
her  idea  of  humor  and  mildly  suggested  that  she  furnish 
some  solution  as  a  means  of  escaping  from  this  most 
embarrassing  situation.  I  realized  the  pubhcity  and 
scandal  that  must  surely  come. 

"It  is  very  simple,"  said  she.  "Go  to  Buffalo,  buy 
him  off,  come  back  to  Boston  and  marry  me.  Your 
mother  is  very  fond  of  me  and  I  love  her  and  Dad 
immensely;  I  am  passionately  fond  of  art;  I  think 
you  are  one  of  the  most  charming  men  whom  I  have 
ever  met,  and  I  know  I  can  make  you  superlatively 
happy!" 

After  that  what  could  a  true-born  American  do? 

I  went  to  Buffalo,  saw  this  half  a  husband  (good 
title,  that!),  paid  him  five  thousand  dollars,  stopped  off 


NUMBER  TWO  137 

in  New  York  and  explained  the  situation  as  best  I  could 
to  my  prima  donna  friend  who  tearfully  told  me  that  I 
was  "doing  the  only  thing  a  man  could  do." 

I  had  "stolen  the  lady  from  her  husband,"  "robbed 
his  fireside,"  "broken  up  his  home"  and  I  "must 
necessarily  abide  the  consequences." 

"The  world  will  condemn  you,  and  it  should,  but 
she  was  certain,  as  was  I,  that  my  crime  would  be 
condoned  and  maybe  in  time  forgiven." 

The  papers  were  beginning  to  hint  at  some  unwhole- 
some episode  connected  with  our  lives;  accusations 
were  being  forged,  ready  to  be  hurled.  I  must  marry 
at  once  and  hsten  to  her  play  the  piano  for  the  rest  of 
my  life!  I  was  sure  of  one  thing,  however  —  she  would 
never  bore  me  and  she  never  did.  But,  Gee  Whiz! 
what  a  lot  of  things  she  did  to  equalize  things. 

Well,  I  kept  my  word.  We  were  married  and  a  beau- 
tiful boy  came  "to  cement  our  union."  From  the  time 
that  that  youngster,  Nat  C.  Goodwin,  III,  came  into 
the  world  until  the  law  separated  us,  she  was  a  changed 
woman.  Up  to  that  time  we  were  happy.  I  purchased 
a  fine  residence  on  West  End  Avenue,  New  York,  and 
our  home  was  the  rendezvous  of  some  of  the  brightest 
fights  of  the  artistic  world. 

And  then  she  became  insanely  Jealous  of  our  darfing 
boy  and  it  is  here  that  I  drop  the  curtain  upon  our 
fives. 

It  is  not  my  mission  in  this  book  to  say  anything 
unkind  or  harsh  of  any  of  the  women  who  have  married 
me.  I  wish  to  confine  myself  to  speaking  in  terms  of 
fufiest  appreciation  of  their  virtues  and  merits,  leaving 
it  to  wise  censors  to  judge  me.  By  some  power  of 
reasoning  afi  men  and  women  elect  themselves  the 
judges  and  juries  of  my  actions.  Their  harsh  criticisms 
I  leave  unanswered,  being  thoroughly  satisfied  in  my 
own  mind  that  I  have  committed  no  off'ense  whatever 


138  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

against  humanity,  knowing  that  I  have  treated  honest 
women  as  they  should  be  treated,  with  all  due  deference 
and  respect  to  womankind. 

Poor  Nella  Baker!  She  abandoned  the  glitter  and 
glare  of  the  world  of  fashion  to  seek  refuge  in  the  bosom 
of  Bohemia.  She  extricated  herself  from  the  vortex  of 
society  to  get  a  ghmpse  of  Real  Life!  The  pet  of  draw- 
ing rooms,  she  became  the  wife  of  a  comedian.  She 
sought  the  atmosphere  of  Henri  Miirger,  but,  alas! 
found  it  not. 

Marriages  are  made  in  Heaven  —  cancelled  in  Reno ! 

Perhaps  some  will  object  to  a  number  of  my  attitudes 
in  this  book,  particularly  as  regards  my  marital  ventures. 
I  have  "no  right  to  refer*'  to  the  sanctity  of  marriage  — 
"a  union  of  two  souls,"  cemented  by  a  (paid)  preacher, 
** ordained  by  the  Deity,"  etc!  But  these  good  people 
will  mistake  my  attitudes.  I  do  not  recognize  as  sanc- 
tified any  ceremony  that  can  be  annulled  by  a  five- 
thousand-dollar-a-year  judge. 

Reno  is  known  as  the  Mecca  for  vacillating  souls. 
New  York  makes  it  look  like  thirty  cents! 

New  York,  by  comparison,  makes  Reno  look  like  a 
Mormon  Mausoleum! 

All  you  have  to  do  in  New  York  is  to  call  at  the 
Captain's  office,  behind  closed  doors,  whisper  "Guilty" 
and,  presto,  you  go  as  free  as  the  birds!  If  you  are 
hoarse,  send  someone  in  your  place,  it's  all  the  same. 
And  yet  people  prate  about  "the  holy  bonds  of  matri- 
mony!" Holy?  Yes,  with  holes  big  enough  to  crawl 
through! 

I  leaped  through  my  last  one  and  had  the  aperture 
sewed  behind  me! 

I  presume  that  I  shall  be  terribly  censured  by  those 
goody-goody  persons  who  are  constantly  preaching  their 
trust  in  all  mankind  and  womankind  and  expatiating 
upon   fihal   devotion   and   implicit   faith   in   those  they 


Nat  C.  Goodwin,  III 


NUMBER  TWO  139 

profess  to  love.  Bah!  There  is  no  perfect  trust  in 
perfect  love. 

Whenever  I  hear  a  man  (or  woman)  express  himself 
as  being  tremendously  in  love,  combined  with  an  abiding 
faith  even  if  he  and  his  mate  are  hving  in  different  zones, 
I  always  watch  for  the  finale  and  generally  read  the  epi- 
logue in  the  Reno  *' Gazette."  When  married  people 
are  separated  (this  is  from  my  point  of  view),  unless  he 
has  misgivings  when  her  name  is  mentioned  and  his 
pulse  does  not  quicken,  if  he  does  not  quiver  when  he  is 
told  that  his  wife  was  seen,  beautifully  arrayed,  enter- 
taining a  party  of  friends  at  some  particular  garden 
party  or  golf  club  —  the  little  messenger  Cupid  has 
taken  wings.  He  may  strut  about  like  Chantecler, 
proclaiming  that  his  crow  awakens  the  slumbering 
embers  of  a  dying  passion,  but  he  is  only  mesmerizing 
himself. 

Married  people  should  never  be  separated,  not  even 
by  chamber  doors.  Our  forefathers  and  mothers  never 
occupied  separate  chambers  when  the  time  came  for 
prayer  and  slumber.  They  were  healthy  people,  if  not 
fashionable.  Canaries  and  monkeys  provide  the  warmth 
and  oils  for  their  mates'  bodies,  but  in  this  age  of  ad- 
vancement and  hypocrisy  it  is  considered  common  to  be 
human. 

If  mankind  would  study  the  ostrich  and  abide  by  its 
acts,  morality  would  triumph  and  married  people  would 
always  be  together. 

Distance  lends  enchantment  only  when  the  door  of 
the  cage  is  opened  by  mutual  consent.  When  only  one 
returns  the  door  will  be  found  rusty  and  difficult  to 
close. 


Chapter  XXVII 


A   FIGHT  WON  (?) 

ILES  AND  BARTON,  lessees  of  the  Bijou 
Theatre,  New  York,  took  me  under  con- 
tract in  1886  and  immediately  I  em- 
barked for  Europe  in  search  of  material. 
As  I  was  scheduled  to  follow  Henry  E. 
Dixey,  who  had  made  himself  famous  at 
the  time  by  his  performance  of  Adonis,  I  reahzed  that 
my  task  would  be  a  heavy  one.  On  my  arrival  in 
London  I  put  myself  in  touch  with  several  authors  and 
succeeded  in  purchasing  the  rights  of  "  Little  Jack 
Shepard,"  **Erminie,"  "Turned  Up"  and  a  musical 
comedy  called  *'Ohver  Cromwell." 

Armed  with  this  material  I  returned  to  America  with 
Wilham  Yardley,  intending  to  open  the  season  at  the 
Bijou  with  the  musical  play  "Little  Jack  Shepard" 
under  his  direction.  We  produced  this  play  in  the 
autumn,  but  did  not  realize  our  expectations.  In  the 
cast  were  Loie  Fuller,  who  played  the  title  role,  Charles 
Bishop,  Leha  Farrell  and  a  prima  donna  whose  name  I 
forget.  (She  couldn't  sing  for  nuts,  but  fortunately  the 
first  night  she  suffered  from  a  severe  cold  which  forced 
her  to  speak  the  lyrics.) 

During  the  run  of  "Little  Jack  Shepard"  I  read  the 
various  hbrettos  I  had  purchased  abroad  and  while 
Miles  (dear  old  Bob!)  congratulated  me  on  my  per- 
spicacity in  procuring  such  material.  Barton  objected 
strenuously  to  one  and  all  of  them  and  advised  me  to 

dispose  of  them  to  the  best  advantage.     I  immediately 

140 


A  FIGHT  WON  (?)  14 1 

sought  Frank  Sanger  and  disposed  of  all  my  holdings  to 
him  at  just  what  they  had  cost  me.  I  had  previously 
read  the  book  of  "  Erminie."  Gus  Kerker  played  the  score 
for  us.  Barton,  with  his  usual  capacity  for  doing  the 
wrong  thing,  violently  protested  against  "Erminie,"  say- 
ing it  was  a  reflex  of  the  old  play  ''Robert  Macaire"  and 
vastly  inferior! 

When  business  dropped  with  "Little  Jack  Shepard,'* 
Miles  and  Barton  were  in  a  quandary  as  to  what  would 
follow  it  and  came  to  me  with  a  request  that  I  put  on 
one  of  the  plays  which  I  had  brought  over  from  Europe. 
I  asked  them  which  they  preferred  and  they  decided 
upon  "Erminie."  "Very  well,"  I  said,  "I  will  see  what  I 
can  do,  but  unfortunately  I  have  disposed  of  the  rights 
to  Mr.  Frank  Sanger."  We  called  him  up  on  the  tele- 
phone and  found  that  he  had  left  the  office  at  the 
request  of  the  management  of  the  Casino,  but  would  be 
back  in  half  an  hour.  I  jumped  into  a  cab,  went  to  the 
office  and  saw  Frank.  He  informed  me  that  he  had 
just  sold  the  American  rights  to  Aronson,  manager  of 
the  Casino,  who  had  engaged  Francis  Wilson  to  play  the 
leading  part.  Sanger  was  much  distressed  about  this 
as  he  considered  that  the  part  would  suit  me  "down  to 
the  ground. "  Everyone  knows  the  history  of  "  Erminie." 
It  made  everybody  connected  with  it  rich.  Through 
Barton's  dogmatic  stupidity  we  all  lost  fortunes. 

I  asked  Frank  if  he  had  disposed  of  all  the  material 
that  I  had  sold  him  and  discovered  that  "Turned  Up" 
was  still  in  the  market.  He  very  kindly  offered  it  to  us 
for  a  thousand  dollars  down  (he  had  previously  paid  me 
five  hundred  cash  for  it)  and  only  (!)  ten  per  cent  of  the 
gross  receipts.  We  were  forced  to  accept  the  play  upon 
those  conditions.  We  opened  with  it,  in  conjunction 
with  a  burlesque  on  "The  Bells"  written  for  me  by  Sydney 
Rosenfeld.  In  this  I  appeared  as  Mathias,  giving  an 
imitation   of  Henry   Irving.    We  retained   most  of  the 


142  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

cast  that  we  had  used  in  the  previous  bill  with  the 
exception  of  Robert  HiHiard  and  Charlie  Coote  whom  I 
engaged  to  play  the  two  light  comedy  roles. 

I  have  never  been  associated  with  an  entertainment 
which  ^^  as  received  with  such  manifest  appreciation  as 
that  double  bill.  We  thought  we  were  in  for  a  run  of 
at  least  one  season  and  maybe  two.  So  sanguine  was 
HiHiard  over  the  success  of  that  evening  that  he  spent 
two  hundred  dollars  the  following  day  in  decorating  his 
dressing-room.  He  was  sure  we  had  found  our  theatri- 
cal home  for  six  months  or  a  year. 

Barton,  one  of  the  old-school  managers,  considered 
that  the  performance  of  "Turned  Up,"  irrespective  of  its 
success,  was  destroying  the  pohcy  of  his  httle  playhouse. 
The  idea  of  Miles  and  Barton  was  to  make  the  Bijou 
the  home  of  burlesque  and  comic  opera  and  Vvhile 
"Turned  Up"  was  turning  the  people  away  Barton 
writhed  under  its  success.  It  was  produced  without  his 
sanction  and  success  meant  nothing  to  him  when  com- 
pared with  his  wounded  vanity.  The  receipts  went  as 
high  as  nine  thousand  on  the  week  and  never  dropped 
below  six  thousand  during  the  entire  run  which  was 
only  eight  weeks. 

Much  to  our  surprise,  Barton  one  day  insisted  upon 
taking  off  "Turned  Up."  He  figured  that  whenever  the 
receipts  fell  below  a  certain  figure  (which  should  have 
been  a  sufficient  profit  for  any  playhouse),  they  were 
losing  money  and  Miles  discovered  that  instead  of  hav- 
ing the  usual  two  weeks'  clause  in  all  of  their  contracts 
with  the  artists  they  were  engaged  for  a  stipulated  num- 
ber of  weeks.  This  included  even  the  ladies  and  gentle- 
men of  the  chorus.  The  result  was  that  a  salary  list  of 
about  fourteen  hundred  dollars  a  week  represented  a 
company  walking  around  doing  nothing.  There  was  no 
chorus  in  "Turned  Up."  I  suggested  that  he  sublet  his 
people  and  not  perform  such  a  suicidal  act  as  closing  a 


A  FIGHT  WON(?)  143 

gold  mine,  but  I  was  voted  down.  We  then  revived 
"The  Skating  Rink"  and  **The  Mascot"  to  only  mediocre 
business. 

About  this  time  a  New  York  critic,  A.  C.  Wheeler, 
submitted  a  manuscript  entitled  "Big  Pony,"  music  by 
Woolson  Morse,  a  very  clever  composer  vvhose  "Cinderella 
at  School"  I  had  previously  produced  at  the  Boston 
Museum.  We  accepted  this  play  and  gave  it  a  magnifi- 
cent production.  On  the  reading  I  thought  that  the  first 
and  third  acts  were  exceptionaly  fine  and  the  title  role, 
Big  Pony,  I  fancied  too.  I  suggested  that  the  second 
act  might  be  improved.  The  dialogue  referred  to  poHtical 
issues  that  were  long  since  dead.  Wheeler  insisted  that 
the  play  should  be  performed  as  he  had  written  it  and 
would  not  permit  one  change.  He  proved  very  obdurate 
and  we  were  finally  compelled  to  either  accept  it  as  writ- 
ten or  give  it  up.  We  finally  decided  to  produce  it  and 
much  to  my  dissatisfaction  I  was  compelled  to  deliver 
supposedly  funny  fines  which  I  knew  were  funereal. 

The  first  act  proved  a  sensational  hit,  my  entrance 
receiving  such  a  tumult  of  applause  that  it  was  fully  a 
minute  and  a  half  before  I  was  permitted  to  sing  my 
first  song.  This  was  a  most  difficult  composition.  The 
lyrics  were  in  the  true  Indian  language,  which  made  it 
very  difficult  for  any  of  the  cribbers  of  the  time  to 
hypothecate  it.  (I  am  sure  that  the  champion  purveyor 
of  songs,  Seymour  Hicks,  would  have  encountered  a 
"water  Jump"  had  he  tried  to.  Hicks  has  often  been 
called  "Steal  More  Tricks"  on  account  of  his  fascinating 
and  "taking"  ways.)  We  had  a  very  good  third  act, 
but  the  second  act  was  so  terrible  that  the  play  proved 
an  unmitigated  failure. 

Wheeler,  known  as  Nym  Crinkle,  one  of  the  cleverest 
critics  of  his  time,  was  a  most  unscrupulous  fellow  and 
he  took  his  medicine  as  such  fellows  usually  take  it. 
Instead  of  accepting  the  inevitable  as  a  true  sportsman 


144  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

should,  Wheeler  attributed  the  play's  failure  to  me  and 
without  my  knowledge  became  my  bitter  foe.  The 
papers  were  severe  in  their  reviews  of  the  play,  but 
most  gracious  to  all  the  players,  particularly  to  me. 
This  rankled  in  his  diminutive  heart.  Having  torn 
down  so  many  houses,  he  could  not  stand  having  his 
own  citadel  stormed.  While  we  often  met  in  the  private 
office  and  talked  over  the  possibihties  of  resuscitation  he 
would  smihngly,  yet  stubbornly,  refuse  to  alter  a  line 
or  allow  anyone  to  suggest  changes.  The  play  evidently 
appealed  to  his  vanity.  He  never  missed  a  performance, 
occupying  a  box  with  a  lady  who  owned  a  half  interest 
in  the  piece,  a  Miss  Estelle  Clayton. 

We  all  knew  that  the  play  was  doomed  and  knowing 
that  it  was  shortly  to  be  taken  off  many  of  us  took 
liberties  with  the  text  and  gagged  whenever  the  oppor- 
tunity presented  itself.  I  remember  a  gambling  scene 
that  I  had  in  the  last  act  in  which  I  threw  dice  with  one 
of  the  characters,  incidentally  losing  all  my  fortune  and 
vast  estates.  One  evening  as  my  last  dollar  disappeared 
over  the  dice  cloth  I  noticed  Wheeler  (as  usual  in  the 
box)  beaming  at  some  of  my  sallies.  I  said  to  the 
opposite  character,  "Now,  my  friend,  I  will  throw  you 
for  this  play  —  manuscript,  parts  and  all." 

The  players  and  the  audience,  knowing  that  the  play 
was  about  to  be  withdrawn,  screamed  with  laughter. 
Just  as  I  was  pondering  over  some  other  funny  quip  my 
heart  came  up  into  my  throat  as  I  saw  the  box  party 
get  up  and  file  out,  their  backs  expressing  profound 
indignation.  I  said  to  myself,  **My  finish,"  and 
maudled  through  the  rest  of  the  performance.  I  had 
made  an  enemy  for  life  of  A.  C.  Wheeler  and  well  he 
exercised  his  avenging  powers.  For  years  he  assailed 
me  from  every  angle,  his  vilifying  articles  never  ceasing 
until  his  death.  I  was  to  blame,  I  presume,  but  I 
really  intended  no  harm  —  only  fun. 


A   FIGHT  WON(?)  ,  145 

That  same  evening  1  unconsciously  ofTended  and 
made  an  enemy  of  another  person,  one  of  the  box 
party,  a  Mr.  Durant,  a  downtown  broker  who,  I  after- 
wards ascertained,  shared  half  of  Miss  Clayton's  interest 
in  the  play.  Up  to  that  time  I  had  never  heard  of  the 
gentleman  and  we  never  met  until  several  weeks  after. 
One  day  in  Kirk's  caJS  on  Broadway  at  Twenty-seventh 
Street  I  was  approached  by  a  half  drunken  individual 
who  insultingly  invited  me  to  drink.  I  was  seated  at  a 
table  with  dear  old  Anson  Pond  and  politely  refused 
several  of  his  solicitations.  He  was  most  persistent, 
accompanying  his  requests  with  profane  and  obscene 
references  to  me  and  my  work  on  the  stage. 

The  place  was  packed  with  men  who  stopped  and 
listened  to  the  drunken  tirade  the  stranger  was  heaping 
upon  me.  Pond,  an  athlete,  calmly  looked  on  and  said 
nothing.  One  or  two  of  the  bartenders  quietly  signalled 
me  to  hit  him  on  the  head  with  something.  I  turned  to 
Anson  and  said,  *'If  this  fellow  doesn't  stop  it  looks  as 
if  I  must  put  one  over."  He  smihngly  approved. 
Then  the  drunken  gentleman  leered  at  me,  again  inviting 
me  to  drink.  If  that  didn't  appeal  to  me  he  was  willing 
to  accompany  me  to  some  adjacent  room,  lock  the  door 
and  the  one  who  survived  would  return  the  winner. 
Before  I  answered  his  belhgerent  request  I  swung  my 
puny  right  which  landed,  fortunately,  upon  the  point 
of  his  impertinent  jaw  and  down  he  went  in  a  heap. 

This  seemed  to  meet  with  the  approval  of  the  specta- 
tors and  I  calmly  resumed  my  seat,  thinking  that  he 
would  take  the  count.  Imagine  my  horror  when  I  saw 
this  huge  man  unravel  himself,  slowly  rise  and  approach 
me  with  much  ferocity.  He  was  about  six  feet  tall,  and 
weighed  in  the  neighborhood  of  two  hundred  pounds. 
That  was  the  way  he  appeared  to  m.e,  at  all  events.  I 
naturally  expected  Pond  or  some  of  the  on-Iookers  to 
interfere,  but  no  such  luck!     As  he  viciously  approached 


146  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

me  he  swung  his  right  very  hard  at  my  head.  I  ducked 
it,  got  to  my  feet,  determined  to  find  out  if  he  knew 
anything  about  boxing.  I  feinted  him  and  discovered 
that  he  was  ignorant  of  everything  pertaining  to  the 
noble  art.  I  also  reahzed  that  if  he  ever  caught  me  in 
his  embrace  it  was  "Goodnight  to  home  and  mother'* 
for  "America's  Foremost!"  I  jumped  about  and 
finally  with  good  judgment  and  better  luck,  landed  a 
punch  on  the  identical  chin,  in  the  same  place,  and  down 
went  the  part  owner  of  "Big  Pony,"  again. 

Still  no  interference!  The  bartenders  continued  non- 
chalantly wiping  the  tumblers.  Pond  kept  on  com.- 
placently  puffing  his  weed  and  the  spectators  obligingly 
formed  an  extemporaneous  ring.  I  was  standing,  gasp- 
ing, in  the  center  of  the  room.  My  right  hand  was  split 
and  rapidly  becoming  the  size  of  a  cantaloupe. 

The  gentleman  on  the  floor  slowly  uncoiled  himself 
and  came  at  me  again,  only  to  receive  a  blow  on  the 
same  spot  and  go  to  the  floor.  This  time  I  nearly 
went  with  him!  Weighing  about  one  hundred  and 
thirty  pounds  my  work  upon  the  human  punching  bag 
was  beginning  to  tell.  This  kept  up  for  two  m.ore 
rounds  and  still  no  one  interfered.  The  reason  was 
afterwards  explained  to  me.     I  was  "winning  so  easily!" 

Winning,  indeed!  I  was  slowly  dying  and  had  I  been 
possessed  of  the  necessary  courage  I  would  have  solicited 
interference,  reahzing  that  I  must  stop  or  faint!  I  was 
slowly  but  surely  passing  away.  I  had  enough  strength 
left  in  my  legs  to  back  towards  the  lunch  counter, 
knowing  that  there  were  missiles  on  the  table.  As  he 
closed  in  on  me,  instead  of  endeavoring  to  avoid  him, 
I  clutched  him  in  a  fond,  yet  tenacious,  embrace.  As 
we  went  down  I  reached  up  on  the  table,  endeavoring 
to  grasp  the  first  article  on  which  my  hand  came  in 
contact.  I  clutched  something,  which  proved  to  be  a 
castor  fifled   with   its   usual   bottles.     I    hadn't   enough 


A  FIGHT  WON(?)  147 

strength  left  to  lift  the  article  but  I  dragged  it  casually 
down  and  let  it  fall  gently  upon  the  gentleman's  fore- 
head, which  was  beneath  me.  As  the  catsup,  Worcester- 
shire sauce  and  vinegar  slowly  trickled  into  his  eyes  he 
gently  drew  me  towards  him  and  whispered,  ''I've  had 
enough." 

He  anticipated  me  by  just  a  second! 

I  gallantly  permitted  him  to  rise,  after  gracefully 
tumbling  off  his  stomach.  Then  in  stentorian  tones  I 
said,  **Get  up,  you  loafer!"  and  walked  majestically 
away.  I  pantomimed  to  Pond  (I  couldn't  talk  after 
that  one  burst  of  "Get  up")  to  get  me  some  brandy 
and  water  and  under  the  pretext  of  fatigue  I  laid  my 
head  upon  his  shoulder  —  and  passed  away  for  about 
five  minutes. 

I  explained  this  encounter  to  Ed.  Buckley  some  weeks 
later  and  after  receiving  his  congratulations,  I  queried, 
*'  Kindly  tell  me,  Ned,  how  —  when  my  antagonist  was 
out  the  next  day  without  a  mark  on  him  and  I  never 
left  my  bed  for  two  weeks  —  how  do  you  figure  me  the 
winner  r 

Ned's  silence  was  profound. 


Chapter  XXVIII 
JOHN  CHAMBERLAIN 


[LjOR  many  years  I  always  looked  forward 
to  my  annual  visit  to  Washington  with 
a  great  deal  of  pleasure  for  two  reasons 
—  I  was  sure  of  magnificent  results  so 
far  as  my  engagements  were  concerned 
and  a  jolly  good  time  besides.  I  always 
arranged  my  tour  so  as  to  play  one  week  there,  followed 
by  a  week's  vacation.     It  was  a  necessary  precaution! 

Often  I  omitted  rest  altogether,  just  continuing  the 
round  of  pleasure  without  pause.  Dinners  were  followed 
by  suppers,  suppers  by  breakfasts!  After  a  night  at 
John  Chamberlain's  famous  hostelry  one  felt  that  one 
never  wanted  to  go  to  bed. 

At  that  time  Chamberlain's  was  the  best  known  and 
the  most  popular  resort  of  the  cleverest  men  in  the 
United  States.  For  here  one  was  sure  of  the  best  food 
in  the  country.  The  wines  were  of  the  fmest  quality. 
It  is  little  wonder  that  it  was  known  as  the  rendezvous 
of  the  enlightened. 

Generally  after  the  matinee  and  always  after  the 
evening  performance  I  would  wend  my  way  to  Chamber- 
Iain's  and  bathe  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  clever  men 
who  were  the  habitues.  Here  were  congregated  such 
men  as  Roscoe  Conklin,  James  G.  Blaine,  President 
Arthur,  Senators  Brice,  Beck,  Blackburne  and  Jones, 
Secretary   of  the   Treasury   John   G.    Carlisle,    William 

Mahone    of    Virginia,    Arthur    Pugh    Gorman,    Grover 

148 


JOHN  CHAMBERLAIN  149 

Cleveland,  Speaker  Crisp,  Tom  Reed  of  Maine,  the  first 
Czar  of  the  Senate,  John  Allen,  Lawrence  Jerome,  the 
witty  father  of  William  Travcrs  Jerome  later  to  become 
District  Attorney  of  New  York,  Amos  Cummings, 
Blakely  Hall,  Joe  Howard,  Jr.  —  but  why  enumerate  all 
the  leading  characters  of  the  United  States?  Men  who 
were  making  American  history  congregated  at  this  noted 
tavern  and  over  a  bottle  of  wine  or  an  apple  toddy  dis- 
cussed national  affairs  or  the  latest  leg  show.  Chamber- 
Iain's  was  indeed  the  Hall  of  Fame. 

For  a  period  extending  over  twenty-five  years  John 
Chamberlain  was  as  well  known  on  the  streets  of  Wash- 
ington as  any  man  occupying  the  executive  chair.  A 
portly  man,  weighing  over  two  Jiundred  pounds,  his 
rotund  figure  was  visible  every  pleasant  afternoon  as  he 
strolled  along  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  always  in  company 
with  some  distinguished  statesman.  John  was  friendly 
with  the  mightiest. 

John  was  one  of  the  most  affable  of  men.  Never 
ruffled,  he  took  the  world  for  what  it  was  worth  and 
smiled  with  equal  facihty  whatever  came  —  whether 
failure  or  success  (and  he  had  his  share  of  both).  Be- 
ginning Hfe  as  a  roustabout  on  the  Mississippi  River  he 
later  blossomed  forth  as  a  professional  gambler  and  soon 
was  the  most  conspicuous  member  of  that  fraternity. 
It  was  in  this  way  that  he  became  immensely  wealthy. 
But  ill-Iuck  overtook  him  as  it  chased  him  down  the 
Road  of  Chance  and  Speculation  and  he  landed  on  the 
rocks. 

When  men  make  fortunes  by  their  wits,  playing  and 
preying  upon  the  credulity  of  mankind,  and  misfortune 
overtakes  them  they  are  as  a  rule  as  helpless  as  children. 
Age  has  dulled  their  mentality.  The  charm  that  appeals 
to  the  gulhble  has  vanished.  Inventions  to  trap  the 
credulous  are  more  up  to  date  and  aged  grafters  must 
give  way  to  the  younger  and  more  enlightened. 


150  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

Poor  John  realized  that  his  day  had  come,  but  taking 
advantage  of  the  many  friends  he  had  made  during  the 
days  of  his  prosperity  and  realizing  that  a  spark  of  the 
old  brilliancy  yet  remained  he  interested  a  few  friends 
in  a  scheme  to  open  a  high-class  restaurant,  where  the 
quality  of  wine  and  food  could  not  be  excelled  in  Amer- 
ica and  the  prices  prohibitive  to  any  but  those  who  could 
afford  such  luxuries.  Having  himself  been  a  bon  vivant 
for  years  John  was  of  full  form,  "with  good  capon 
lined."  No  one  was  better  fitted  to  cater  to  the  tastes 
and  inclinations  of  American  statesmen.  The  Blaine 
residence  was  secured  and  Chamberlain  was  launched. 
It  consisted  of  two  houses  thrown  into  one.  We  all 
met  in  one  large  room  on  the  corner,  a  room  about  a 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  long  and  forty  feet  wide.  In 
that  room  I  have  met  the  men  as  I  have  mentioned. 

Many  a  night  I  have  listened  to  dear  WilHam  Mahone 
later  known  as  **  Little  Billy,"  relate  his  experiences  in 
the  war.  I  have  gone  upstairs  and  watched  the  heavy 
play  at  poker  (for  stakes  that  would  have  amazed  the 
many  had  they  known  the  amount  played  for).  I  have 
watched  the  stolid  Roscoe  Conklin,  as  he  came  and 
went,  recognizing  hardly  any  one,  majestic  in  demeanor, 
suggesting  a  proud  turkey  contemplating  his  barnyard 
companions.  Then  comes  the  magnetic  James  G. 
Blaine,  in  direct  contrast  to  his  adversary,  Conklin,  who 
cost  him  the  Presidency  of  the  United  States.  Blaine 
most  often  was  listening  to  the  caustic,  rasping  tones,  of 
Tom  Reed  who  ordered  his  apple  toddy  in  a  voice  an- 
other man  would  use  to  give  an  enemy  the  lie!  I  have 
hung  on  the  words  of  brilliant  Bob  IngersoII  as  they 
rolled  from  his  colossal  brain,  gone  from  one  table  to 
another  —  to  find  each  one  more  attractive  than  the 
last! 

It  was  like  sitting  at  a  dress  rehearsal  of  a  play  where 
all  the  actors  were  stars.     I  was  in  a  theatre,  a  truly 


a. 
a. 
o 


Q 

to" 

C 

o 


"a 


o 

o 

CO 


a 


a 


-I 
< 


JOHN   CHAMBERLAIN  151 

national  playhouse,  where  plays  were  written  every 
night.  The  plots  of  these  dramas  were  so  thrilling  as  to 
make  their  telling  cause  for  envy!  I  count  it  one  of  the 
greatest  privileges  of  my  life  to  have  seen  these  players 
as  I  saw  and  heard  them. 

Well,  the  hostelry  is  torn  down,  the  landlord  has 
paid  his  rent  and  sought  a  perpetual  abode.  All  those 
whom  I  have  mentioned  are  John's  guests,  wherever  he 
is.  He  will  meet  them  with  a  cold  bottle  and  a  hot 
bird  and  in  some  far  off  star  I  fancy  I  can  see  them  all 
reunited,  old  Mammy,  the  cook,  still  quarreling  with  the 
head  waiter  as  he  communicates  to  Peter,  "The  season 
for  canvas-back  ducks  is  over,  but  Mr.  John  has  just 
ordered  some  Philadelphia  capon  that  he  can  highly 
recommend." 

Chamberlain  is  now  only  a  memory  as  far  as  Wash- 
ington is  concerned,  but  he  has  left  a  monument  at  Old 
Point  Comfort  where  the  hotel  that  bears  his  name  now 
stands.  It  took  him  years  to  consummate  the  deal 
whereby  the  government  gave  him  the  concession  that 
enabled  his  friends  to  advance  the  money  to  build  that 
magnificent  hotel.  John  never  lived  to  see  it  succeed. 
Before  he  died  the  property  went  into  the  hands  of  a 
receiver  and  his  friends  lost  their  money.  His  grief 
undoubtedly  hastened  his  end. 

Which  star  do  John  and  the  brilliant  men  I  have 
mentioned  occupy? 

I  wonder! 


Chapter  XXIX 

W.   S.   GILBERT 

NE  of  the  most  gifted  men  I  have  ever 
met  was  W.  S.  Gilbert,  of  Gilbert  & 
Sullivan  fame.  He  was  not  a  very- 
pleasant  companion  socially  as  he  was 
more  of  a  cynic  than  a  wit,  but  at  inter- 
vals he  would  make  his  cynicism  sub- 
servient and  become  most  agreeable. 

At  the  Crystal  Palace  one  evening  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  being  seated  next  to  him  at  a  banquet,  where,  Bern- 
and.  Editor  of  "Punch,"  was  chairman.  Bernand,  I  was 
told,  v>^as  very  jealous  of  Gilbert,  which  became  rather 
apparent  as  the  banquet  progressed,  both  he  and  Gilbert 
indulging  in  several  combats  of  repartee. 

Gilbert  was  telhng  us  a  rather  amusing  incident  at 
which  we  were  all  laughing  very  decidedly,  when 
Bernand  shouted  down  the  hne  of  diners,  "Are  you 
chaps  laughing  at  those  funny  sayings  of  Gilbert,  which 
he  sends  to  'Punch'  and  never  gets  in?"  Gilbert  quickly 
replied,  "I  do  not  know  who  sends  the  funny  things  to 
*  Punch,'  but  I  do  know  that  they  never  get  in. " 

Gilbert  was  once  asked  his  opinion  of  Sir  Herbert 
Tree's  performance  of  "Hamlet."  "Well,"  he  said  "it 
was  very,  very  funny  and  not  at  all  vulgar." 


152 


Chapter  XXX 
HENRY   E.   DIXEY 


HJ-iQUAL  if  not  superior  to  myself  in  the 
versatility  of  "ups"  and  "downs"  in  the 
theatrical  firmament  has  been  the  career 
of  Henry  E.  Dixey.  Twenty-five  years 
ago  he  was  the  toast  of  the  Town.  As 
Adonis  his  fame  was  heralded  from 
coast  to  coast  and  even  permeated  across  to  England. 
His  appearance  on  any  stage  was  an  event.  When  he 
appeared  in  Boston  after  a  run  of  nearly  two  years  in 
New  York  he  stopped  the  traffic  and  multitudes  swarmed 
the  streets  as  he  passed  through  the  city  on  his  way  to 
the  Adams  House.  He  was  finally  forced  to  appear 
upon  the  balcony  to  acknowledge  this  tremendous  re- 
ception. Ten  years  after  I  saw  him  smothered  nearly 
into  obhvion  as  one  of  the  members  of  Weber  &  Field's 
burlesque  company  on  Broadway,  the  scene  of  his 
former  triumphs.  My  heart  bled  for  him,  as  I  had 
seen  him  previously  give  splendid  character  perform- 
ances in  the  melodrama  "Romany  Rye."  A  few  years 
after  I  saw  him  come  forth  again  resplendent  as  David 
Garrick  in  Stuart  Robson's  play  of  "Oliver  Goldsmith," 
only  to  disappear  again  as  a  legerdemain  performer  and 
in  vaudeville.  Then  he  scored  a  tremendous  hit  in  one 
of  Miss  Amelia  Bingham's  plays.  So  it  has  gone  on  for 
over  twenty-five  years.  Undaunted,  the  graceful  Harry 
jumps  over  the  rails  of  failure  into  the  pastures  of 
success.  He  is  truly  a  wonderful  man.  We  have 
known  each  other  for  many  years  appearing  as  long  ago 

153 


154  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

as  1876  in  Rice's  "Evangeline"  at  the  Boston  Museum,' 
when  Dixey  performed  the  character  of  the  forelegs  of 
the  heifer  not  the  hind  ones,  my  dear  pal,  the  late  Dick 
Golden,  performing  that  equally  strenuous  role.  I  doff 
my  hat  to  Henry  E.  Dixey  and  wish  him  a  long  pros- 
perous career  on  his  journey  down  the  other  side  of  the 
mountain  of  hfe.  He,  hke  myself,  has  passed  the  fifty 
mark,  and  he  tells  me  he  is  just  learning  how  to  act 
and  Mr.  Ohver  Morosco  tells  the  pubhc  he  has  no  use 
for  middle  aged  actors.  Think  it  over  Mr.  Morosco. 
Dixey  has  just  scored  one  of  the  hits  of  his  hfe  in 
young  Mr.  Mackaye's  play  of  "A  Thousand  Years 
Ago."  I'm  glad  and  I  congratulate  my  good  friend, 
Henry  E.  Dixey. 


Chapter  XXXI 


SWAGGER  NEW  YORKERS  OF  ANOTHER 

DAY 

HEN  I  was  quite  a  lad  in  New  York  I 
had  the  good  fortune  to  mingle  with 
some  of  the  swagger  men-about-town. 
They  were  the  real  society  men  of  the 
time,  not  the  milk  sops  of  the  present 
day.  My  acquaintances  were  men  Hke 
Leonard  Jerome,  known  as  Larry  among  his  intimates, 
WiKiam  P.  Travers,  Wright  Sanford,  Cyrus  Field,  John 
Hoey,  Neil  O'Brien,  whose  sobriquet  was  "Oby,"  and 
many  others.  And  they  were  all  witty,  clever  men  of 
the  world.  My  talent  for  mimicry  was  the  cause  of  my 
association  with  these  charming  men. 

Among  the  wittiest  of  the  lot  was  Mr.  Travers,  who 
was  handicapped  by  an  impediment  of  speech,  a  slight 
stammer,  that  was  almost  fascinating.  One  day,  he 
asked  me  if  I  knew  where  he  could  purchase  a  good 
dog  that  could  kill  rats.  A  lady  friend  had  commis- 
sioned him  to  purchase  one.  I  took  him  to  a  dog  fan- 
cier's in  Houston  Street  and  introduced  him  to  the 
canine  connoisseur. 

In  a  few  moments  Travers  was  the  possessor  of  as 
fine  a  looking  terrier  as  I  ever  saw.  When  I  told  the 
proprietor  who  his  customer  was  he  was  overwhelmed 
and,  taking  him  to  one  side,  said,  "Mr.  Travers,  I  want 
to  give  you  a  practical  demonstration  of  Vv'hat  that  dog 
can  do  with  a  rat." 

^55 


156  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

"Ger-ger-a-go  to  it,"  replied  Travers,  *'b-b-bring  on 
your  rer-rer-rat  and  Til  rer-rer- referee  the  ber-ber- 
battle." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  man  returned  and  threw  the 
largest  rat  I  ever  saw  into  the  pit.  It  had  flowing  gray 
whiskers  and  looked  every  inch  a  fighter  as  it  stood  on 
its  hind  legs  ready  for  battle.  The  dog  looked  at  it  for 
a  moment  as  if  in  surprise  at  the  belhcose  attitude  of 
the  rodent.  While  the  terrier  hesitated  the  rat  acted! 
With  one  flying  leap  Sir  Rodent  fastened  his  teeth  upon 
the  upper  hp  of  the  dog.  Howhng  with  pain  the  canine 
finafly  shook  ofl"  the  rat  and  with  a  yefl  jumped  over  the 
pit  and  ran  yelping  down  the  street. 

The  owner  started  after  him,  but  Travers  held  him 
back,  saying,  "  Nev-nev-never  mind  the  d-d-dog,  wha- 
wha-what'fl  you  take  for  the  rat?" 

One  day  Travers  was  inspecting  one  of  the  palatial 
steamers  that  had  been  built  by  James  Fisk,  Jr.,  and 
Jay  Gould.  As  he  passed  down  to  the  main  saloon,  he 
was  confronted  by  two  huge  medaflions,  painted  in  oil, 
of  Fisk  and  Gould,  on  each  side  of  the  stairway.  He 
looked  at  them  for  a  moment,  then  turned  to  one  of  his 
companions,  saying: 

"Where  is  the  per-per-picture  of  our  Saviour?" 


Chapter  XXXII 
JAMES  WHITCOMB   RILEY 


T  was  just  after  I  had  learned  of  the 
serious  illness  of  that  delightful  poet  and 
blessed  friend,  James  Whitcomb  Riley, 
the  Bobby  Burns  of  America,  that  I 
penned  the  following: 

How  cruel  of  Nature  to  take  one  of 
her  favorite  children  if  she  decides  to! 

Why  make  humanity  weep  and  chill  our  hearts? 
Why  cause  the  Indiana  flowers  to  cry  for  a  gardener 
—  for  who  will  sing  their  praises  when  dear  Jim  has 
gone?      )i 

Why  clog  "The  Old  Swimmin'  Hole"  with  weeds? 
When  our  truant  fancy  wanders  to  "That  Old  Sweet- 
heart of  Mine,"  we  won't  purchase  tickets  for  "Grigsby's 
Station"  for  "The  Latch  String"  will  have  been  severed. 
No  cofi'ee  will  be  served  "Like  Mother  Used  to  Make" 
for  "Dat  Leedle  Boy  of  Mine." 

Only  the  barren,  dusty  road  of  decay  will  mark  the 
meadows  of  melody  that  Riley  has  planted  with  the 
seeds  of  song  and  when  Dame  Nature  commands  his 
spirit  to  join  the  other  singers  in  the  celestial  choir  we 
who  are  left  saddened  can  only  kneel  upon  the  sod  made 
fragrant  by  his  presence  and  entreat  the  messengers  to 
bear  him  gently  over  the  hiUs  out  to  "Old  Aunt  Mary's" 
where  the  "Raggerty"  man  will  whisper  "Good-bye,  Jim; 

take  care  of  Yourself." 

157 


158  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

As  events  transpired  it  was  I  who  nearly  started  on 
the  last  long  journey  —  and  Jim  recovered.  And  one 
day  in  191 2  came  this  message  to  ease  my  bed  of 
pain:  — 

Indianapolis  Ind  Oct  9  Via  Long  Beach  Cahf  Oct  loth  12 
Nat  Goodwin, 

Ocean  Park  CaliJ. 
Heartiest  appreciation  for  your  good  birthday  greetings  and  al! 
best  wishes  for  your  speedy  recovery  Loyally  as  ever. 

9  28  A.  M.  James  Whitcomb  Riley 


Chapter  XXXIII 
DIGBY  BELL  AND   DE  WOLF  HOPPER 


T  is  a  supreme  satisfaction  to  look  back 
over  a  period  of  25  years,  and  realize 
one  has  retained  the  friendship  of  even 
one  man.  I  have  been  successful  with 
a  few,  but  the  most  gratifying  has  been 
the  continued  friendship  between  Digby 
Bell,  De  Wolf  Hopper  and  myself.  We  began  our  re- 
spective careers  in  the  seventies,  at  about  the  same  time, 
and  have  appeared  often  in  the  same  characterizations, 
principally  in  comic  and  light  opera,  and  always  enjoyed 
the  other's  performances  much  better  than  our  own. 
We  have  frequently  appeared  at  benefit  performances 
and  always  enjoyed  ourselves  immensely,  irrespective  of 
the  pleasure  we  were  contributing  to  others. 

Bell  and  Hopper,  are  directly  opposite  to  one  another 
in  make  up  and  manner,  although  both  are  gifted  with 
conspicuous  personahties,  particularly  Hopper.  They 
gave  a  keen  sense  of  humor  accompanied  with  much 
gray  matter,  and  I  consider  them  two  of  the  most  in- 
telhgent  men  on  our  stage  to-day.  Both  are  gifted  with 
the  power  to  amuse  off  the  stage  as  well  as  on,  being 
splendid  recontours.  Hopper  is  particularly  happy  as 
an  after-dinner  talker  and  before  the  curtain  speech- 
maker,  and  his  Casey  at  the  Bat,  has  become  an  American 
classic. 

Bell  and  Hopper,  make  charming  companions  and  one 

never  regrets  an  hour  or  two  spent  in  their  society. 

159 


i6o  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

They  say  the  only  true  way  to  know  a  man  is  to 
travel  with  him,  or  be  associated  with  him  in  business. 
I  had  the  privilege  many  years  ago  to  spend  many 
happy  days  in  the  society  of  Hopper,  enjoying  a  hohday 
spent  abroad.  We  intended  making  a  journey  over  the 
Continent,  but  London  proved  so  attractive  that  we 
remained  there  most  of  our  time. 

I  had  the  pleasure  of  introducing  Hopper  to  my 
English  friends  and  some  of  the  London  clubs,  and  he 
very  soon  made  a  host  of  friends. 

Rather  a  funny  incident  happened  during  our  stay  in 
London.  A  Miss  Bessie  Bellewood,  had  made  a  tre- 
mendous hit  in  the  music  halls  at  this  time,  and  I  was 
particularly  anxious  that  Hopper  should  witness  one  of 
her  performances,  as  I  considered  her  one  of  the  cleverest 
vaudeville  artists  I  had  ever  seen.  Hopper  was  doomed 
to  disappointment,  however,  as  he  had  tried  several 
times  to  witness  her  acting,  but  on  these  various  occa- 
sions, something  happened  which  prevented  the  clever 
Bessie  from  turning  up  at  the  hour  she  was  advertised 
to  appear,  and  when  her  turn  came,  instead  of  her 
name  being  pushed  into  the  receptacle  which  announces 
the  respective  performers,  they  would  shove  in  a  sign 
which  read,  "Extra  Turn,"  and  somebody  would  take 
her  place. 

One  afternoon  I  met  Hopper  and  told  him  that  I  had 
made  arrangements  for  us  to  accept  invitations  to 
luncheon,  dinner  and  supper,  but  I,  not  feeling  well, 
decided  I  would  only  accept  the  latter,  and  intended  to 
go  to  my  hotel  preparatory  to  joining  him  at  supper. 
He  condoled  with  me  and  we  parted,  I  ostensively  to  go 
home  and  secure  my  much  needed  rest,  Hopper  de- 
termining to  accept  all  three  of  the  invitations.  As  he 
was  returning  from  his  dinner  engagement,  he  noticed 
Bessie  Bellewood  was  to  appear  that  afternoon  at  the 
London  Tivoli  Music  Hall,  Hopper  determined  to  take 


In  Confusion 

Back  in  the  eighties 


DIGBY  BELL  AND  DE  WOLF  HOPPER  i6i 

another  chance,  his  seventh,  at  seeing  the  illusive  Bessie, 
purchased  a  ticket  after  inquiring  the  time  which  she 
was  to  appear  that  evening,  and  went,  full  of  expecta- 
tions. When  the  time  came  for  Bessie's  appearance,  to 
Hopper's  horror,  again  was  the  card  thrust  into  the 
aperture  saying,  "Extra  Turn."  He  arose  and  went 
into  tlic  street  filled  with  rage,  and  meeting  a  friend,  he 
said  that  he  did  not  believe  any  such  artist  lived  as 
Bessie  Bellewood.  The  friend  assured  him  there  was, 
and  if  he  would  take  time  to  cross  over  and  look  into 
Romonas'  Restaurant,  he  would  find  the  festive  Bessie, 
with  his  friend  Nat  Goodwin,  at  a  sumptuous  repast, 
where  they  have  been  sojourning  since  two  o'clock  that 
afternoon.  Hopper  came  over,  his  massive  form  appear- 
ing at  our  table  and  said,  "I  thought  you  were  home  in 
bed,"  to  which  I  rephed,  **I  was  on  my  way  my  dear 
'Willie,'  but  meeting  my  friend  Miss  Bellewood,  we 
came  in  for  a  quiet  tete-a-tete,  and  have  been  tete-a- 
t^ting  all  the  afternoon." 

I  apologized  for  interfering  with  Bessie's  professional 
duties,  but  told  Hopper  that  if  he  would  accompany  us 
upstairs.  Miss  Bellewood  would  volunteer  to  sing  three 
of  her  latest  songs.  We  adjourned  to  one  of  Romonas* 
private  music  rooms  where  Bessie  regaled  us  with  song 
and  anecdote,  which  caused  us  both  to  miss  our  supper 
appointment.  He  agreed  with  me  that  Bessie  Belle- 
wood was  the  best  music  hall  artist  he  had  ever  had 
the  pleasure  of  witnessing. 


Chapter  XXXIV 
BLAINE  AND  INGERSOLL 


L^DDIE"  SOTHERN,  De  Wolf  Hopper  and 
I    were    returning    to    America    after    a 
most    delightful    trip    abroad    when   we 
suddenly  decided  to  stop  off  at  Queens- 
town  and  take  a  drive  through  Ireland 
in  a  jaunting  car. 
The  driver  of  the  vehicle  proved  a  most  loquacious 
fellow  who   bubbled  over  with   Irish   humor.     It  took 
him  but  a  very  short  time  to  set  us  down  as  Americans. 
Hopper  and  I  actually  are! 

I  took  a  seat  beside  him  and  began  to  question  him 
about  the  possibilities  of  Home  Rule.  He  evaded  my 
questions  for  a  time,  but  presently  in  a  spirit  of  confi- 
dence told  me  that  he  was  convinced  that  the  time  was 
ripe  for  the  freeing  of  Ireland.  He  even  gave  me  a  date 
when  they  would  be  relieved  from  thraldom.  He 
leaned  quietly  forward  and  imparted  the  information, 
under  promise  of  profound  secrecy,  that  there  were 
ninety  thousand  men  hiding  in  the  County  of  Kildare, 
110,000  in  Tipperary  and  among  the  hills,  rocks  and 
caves  of  Killarney,  200,000  on  the  outskirts  of  Dublin 
and  an  equal  number  distributed  through  County  Cork, 
combined  with  several  secret  organizations  throughout 
Ireland  numbering  more  than  600,000!  The  hills  were 
well  stocked  with  dynamite  and  Winchester  rifles,  sent 
from  America  and  closely  guarded.  He  further  assured 
me  that  when  the  "head-centre"  was  satisfied  all  the 

forces  would  be  concentrated  and  Ireland  would  be  free. 

162 


BLAINE  AND   INGERSOLL  163 

"Why  don't  you  do  it  at  once?"  I  asked. 

"Begorra,  the  police  won't  let  us!"  he  replied. 

On  my  arrival  home  I  told  this  story  to  Robert  G. 
IngersoII  and  James  G.  Blaine  at  a  luncheon  given  me 
at  the  former's  residence  in  Washington.  They  were 
very  much  interested  in  my  narrative.  In  fact  they 
took  it  seriously,  Blaine  being  particularly  impressed 
with  the  amalgamation  of  the  Irish  forces  and  in  their 
serious  intentions.  As  I  went  on,  repeating  the  number 
of  troops  that  were  supposed  to  be  in  hiding  I  noticed 
a  twinkle  in  IngersoII's  eyes.  Blaine  looked  somewhat 
surprised,  but  credulous. 

As  coffee  was  being  served,  I  sprang  the  climax  of  my 
story  with  the  result  that  the  coffee  spread  its  course 
over  the  damask  table  cloth.  They  must  have  laughed 
for  five  minutes. 

I  always  knew  that  IngersoII  had  a  tremendous  sense 
of  humor,  but  I  never  credited  Blaine  with  any.  When- 
ever we  met  in  after  life,  he  never  failed  to  refer  to  my 
Jaunting  car  story. 


Chapter  XXXV 
JIM  CORBETT   IN   ENGLAND 


OME  years  ago  James  J.  Corbett,  the 
ex-champion  pugilist  of  the  world,  was 
appearing  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre  in 
London  much  to  the  dissatisfaction  of 
the  resident  actors,  authors  and  man- 
agers. They  considered  it  in  the  light 
of  a  sacrilege  for  a  prize  fighter  to  desecrate  the  boards 
which  a  Kean  and  a  Macready  had  trod. 

One  night  at  the  Green  Room  Club  I  was  taken  to 
task  by  that  clever  dramatist  Hamilton  for  allowing  my 
countryman  and  fellow  player,  as  he  sarcastically  put 
it,  to  appear  upon  London's  sacred  stages.  I  dis- 
claimed all  responsibility. 

"I  know,  my  dear  boy,"  he  insisted,  "but  you  Ameri- 
cans should  not  allow  one  of  your  countrymen  to  take 
such  liberties  with  the  drama;  you  should  take  the 
necessary  means  to  prevent  such  acts  of  vandalism!" 
He  continued  with  a  tirade  of  abuse,  accusing  me  of 
being  a  party  to  Corbett's  appearance.  He  finished  his 
remarks  with,  "Do  you  and  your  enlightened  country- 
men consider  Air.  Corbett  a  good  actor?" 

By  this  time  I  had  become  very  much  angered  at  his 
many  impertinent  remarks  and  I  said,  "No,  but  he  can 
whip  any  man  in  the  world  and  that's  why  we  worship 
him  —  not  as  an  actor,  but  as  a  representative  of  the 
manly  art  of  self-defense!" 

As  I  warmed  to  my  argument  I  went  on  to  extol  the 

man's  gifts  that  have  made  him   famous  in   Fistiana, 

164 


JIM    CORBETT    IN    ENGLAND  165 

using  terms  and  expressions  utterly  unknown  to  Hamil- 
ton who  was  aghast  at  the  adulation  and  adjectives 
I  applied  to  Corbett. 

"This  man  not  only  combines  the  prowess  of  the 
average  heavy-weight,"  I  explained,  "but  he  can 
counter,  side-step  and  swing!  In  avoiding  punishment 
he  has  the  agility  of  a  feather-weight!  In  fact,"  I 
concluded,  "you  can't  hit  Corbett  with  a  bullet!" 

"What  a  pity!"  said  Hamilton. 


Chapter  XXXVI 

THE  COCKNEY  CABBY  COMEDIAN 

WAS  returning  from  the  Newmarket 
races  in  England  after  a  very  poor  day, 
having  failed  to  back  a  winner.  Arriv- 
ing at  Waterloo  station  I  found  it  was 
raining  in  torrents.  Not  fancying  han- 
som cabs  in  that  kind  of  weather  I  per- 
mitted the  crowd  to  rush  along  the  platform  in  a  frantic 
endeavor  to  secure  a  cab,  having  made  up  my  mind  to 
content  myself  with  a  four  wheeler.  It  is  not  a  particu- 
larly attractive  vehicle  (four  wheelers  are  generally  in 
use  all  night  and  retain  a  stuffy  and  most  uncomfort- 
able aroma  therefore),  but  it  is  safe! 

At  the  station  there  is  an  opening  of  about  fifty  feet 
from  one  platform  to  another,  unsheltered  and  roofless. 
I  looked  across  and  discovered  a  solitary  cab  with  an 
old  man  holding  the  ribbons  listlessly.  The  downpour 
fell  about  his  narrow  shoulders  which  were  meagerly 
protected  by  the  thinnest  of  rubber  covering.  After  I 
had  shouted  several  times  for  him  to  come  over  and  get 
me  he  slowly  turned  around  and  replied :  — 

"You  come  over  here;   my  beast  is  a  bit  weary." 
I  dug  my  head  into  my  coat  and  waded  across  the 
street,  drenching  myself  to  the  skin  in  that  short  inter- 
val.    I  quickly  opened  the  cab  door,  fell  upon  the  damp 
cushions  and  gasped,  "Carleton  Hotel." 

"Righto,  Governor,"  came  the  response  from  the  all 
but  drowned  cabby  and  the  vehicle  began   its  weary 

journey,   fairly  crawling  down  Waterloo  Hill.     Having 

i66 


THE  COCKNEY  CABBY  COMEDIAN  167 

a  very  important  dinner  party  on  hand  and  realizing  it 
was  late  I  became  somewhat  anxious.  Leaning  out  of 
the  window  I  shouted :  — 

"My  good  man,  send  your  horse  along.  I  am  in  great 
haste." 

"He's  doing  his  level,  governor,"  he  replied.  "I 
can't  shove  him.  He's  human  as  we  are  and  besides 
he's  been  out  all  night." 

I  sank  back  onto  the  cushions  biting  my  nails  in  sheer 
desperation  as  the  cab  moved  even  more  slowly.  Again 
indulging  myself  in  a  shower  bath  from  the  open  win- 
dow, I  looked  out  and  pleaded. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  driver,  send  that  horse  along; 
he's  simply  crawling." 

"He's  striving  'ard,  governor,"  came  back  the  reply, 
"but  he's  no  sprinter  at  his  best.  I'll  get  you  to  the 
Carleton,  never  fear." 

By  this  time  I  was  frantic.  I  opened  the  door  and 
stood  on  the  step  disregarding  the  rain  and  shouted:  — 

"You  fool,  I'm  not  going  to  a  funeral." 

"Nor  me  to  no  bloomin'  fire,  neither,"  rephed  the 
cabby  cheerfully! 


Chapter  XXXVII 
A   GILDED   FOOL  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 


ui  i    TT    1 1 


N  looking  about  for  an  author  capable  of 
writing  me  a  play  wherein  I  could  en- 
deavor to  exploit  comedy  and  pathos  I 
met  with  much  opposition  until  I  finally 
ran  across  Henry  Guy  Carlton.  Carlton 
was  living  in  Boston,  financially  on  his 
uppers.  He  had  just  indulged  in  the  dissipation  of 
writing  two  tragedies,  *'Memnon"  and  "The  Lion's 
Mouth"  and  when  I  approached  him  with  this  idea  of 
mine  he  quite  agreed  with  me. 

I  invited  him  to  be  my  guest  for  a  few  weeks  and 
during  that  time  we  evolved  the  plot  of  **  A  Gilded  Fool." 
I  produced  it  that  spring  at  the  Providence  Opera  House 
with  a  carefully  selected  cast,  including  Clarence  Holt, 
Theodore  Babcock,  Arthur  Hoops,  Louis  Barrett,  John 
Brown,  Robert  Wilson,  Mabel  Amber,  Minnie  Dupree, 
Estelle  Mortimer  and  Jeane  Claire  Walters.  Five  of 
this  cast  have  joined  the  vast  majority. 

We  spent  but  httle  time  in  preparation  and  after  only 
three  weeks'  rehearsals  produced  it  at  the  Providence 
Opera  House.  I  was  not  particularly  hopeful  as  to  the 
result.  In  fact  a  few  days  before  its  production  I  be- 
came somewhat  depressed  and  sent  for  my  dear  old 
mother  to  run  down  from  Boston  to  join  me.  I  needed 
her  consoHng  words,  to  hear  her  tell  me  once  more 
what  a  great  actor  I  was.  She  "always  knew"  I  was 
**a  genius."  Of  course  the  dear  old  lady  came  and 
after  witnessing  one  rehearsal  pronounced  it  "absolutely 

perfect." 

i68 


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s  -^ 

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A  GILDED  FOOL  AND  OTHER  PLAYS  169 

At  the  last  rehearsal  1  became  very  pessimistic.  We 
rehearsed  from  ten  in  the  morning  until  four  in  the 
afternoon  and  then  we  hadn't  reached  the  last  act,  so 
I  dismissed  the  rehearsal,  mother  and  I  went  to  dinner, 
which  was  followed  by  a  short  siesta.  I  went  to  sleep 
predicting  all  sorts  of  faihire. 

Before  going  to  the  theatre  that  night  my  old  dad 
came  down.  He  had  witnessed  one  rehearsal  a  few 
days  before  and  gone  home  disgusted.  We  both  pre- 
dicted defeat.  I  really  could  see  nothing  in  my  part. 
He  shared  this  opinion  with  me.  (I  regret  to  say  he 
never  thought  me  great  in  anything.  There  you  have 
a  discerning  old  gentleman!) 

Night  came  and  much  to  my  surprise  my  first  line 
provoked  great  laughter.  As  it  had  some  reference  to 
drink  perhaps  that  was  the  cause!  It  always  seems  to 
appeal  to  an  audience!  Each  scene  seemed  to  go  better 
than  the  preceding  one  and  when  we  got  to  the  poor, 
despised  and  neglected  last  act  it  proved  to  be  the  most 
agreeable  one  of  the  lot.  That  night  we  knew  that  we 
had  a  success. 

Charles  Frohman  who  came  out  from  New  York  to 
witness  the  production  said,  "You  have  made  a  great 
hit  to-night,  Nat,  and  I  only  wish  that  John  Drew, 
whom  I  contemplate  starring  next  year,  had  so  good 
a  vehicle." 

The  following  year  John  began  his  starring  tour  with 
a  play  equally  as  strong,  by  the  same  author,  called 
"The  Butterflies."  In  this  play  Maude  Adams  sprang 
into  fame. 

"The  Fool"  made  a  great  metropolitan  success  and  I 
still  play  it  in  repertoire. 

Carlton  was  a  most  amusing  and  unique  man,  al- 
though a  bit  uncomfortable  to  associate  with.  He  was 
cursed  with  an  awful  impediment,  a  stammer.  With 
a  keen  sense  of  humor  and  an  unusual  amount  of  funny 


1 70  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

stones  at  his  command,  his  ability  to  lampoon  you  made 
an  afternoon  spent  in  his  society  somewhat  trying.  He 
was  fully  cognizant  of  his  infirmity,  but  seemed  to  revel 
in  it  and  in  the  discomfiture  it  caused  his  friends.  One 
day  he  called  me  up  over  the  'phone  and  after  vainly 
endeavoring  to  say  "Hello"  took  one  long  breath  (he 
generally  spoke  inhahng  and  coughing  his  sentences, 
reminding  you  of  a  person  endeavoring  to  speak  through 
a  thunderstorm,  while  on  horseback,  jumping  hurdles) 
and,  after  a  paroxysm,  said,  "Nat,  have  you  half  an 
hour  to  spare?"  I  rephed,  "Yes."  He  coughed  his 
reply  back  through  the  instrument,  "Well,  if  you  have 
half  an  hour  to  spare,  I  want  five  minutes  conversation 
with  you!" 

I  once  comphmented  him  upon  some  medals  which  he 
wore.  They  bore  inscriptions  for  bravery  displayed  in 
an  Indian  war.  He  said  he  was  never  entitled  to  receive 
them.     "Why  not?"  I  asked. 

"Well,"  he  answered,  "I  was  leading  some  troops 
down  a  ravine  when  we  were  suddenly  surrounded  by 
the  Indians,  lying  in  ambush.  I  was  frightened  stiff 
and  tried  to  give  the  order  to  retreat.  For  the  hfe  of 
me  I  couldn't  say  it.  All  I  could  get  out  of  my  throat 
was  'Charge!  charge!  charge!'  and  the  more  terrified  I 
became  the  louder  became  the  commands!  The  result 
was  we  turned  defeat  into  a  victory  and  I  became  a 
hero!" 

When  I  was  firmly  convinced  that  I  had  put  the 
pathos  of  "A  Gilded  Fool"  over  I  at  once  looked  about 
to  secure  a  play  where  the  comedy  was  subordinate  to 
the  pathos,  as  I  was  determined  to  launch  an  ultra-serious 
play  —  not  that  the  latter  is  more  difficult;  on  the  con- 
trary, I  consider  that  it  is  harder  to  make  people  laugh 
than  to  cry  (when  the  humor  is  apphed  legitimately)  — 
but  the  old  precept  of  Cazauran  was  forever  singing  in 
my  ears:  —  "Remember,  no  one  remembers  a  laugh." 


A  GILDED   FOOL  AND  OTHER   PLAYS  171 

I  was  determined  to  obliterate  if  possible  the  memories 
of  my  preceding  laughter  epoch. 

I  imparted  my  views  to  Augustus  Thomas  who  had 
just  successfully  produced  "Alabama"  and  he  fell  in 
with  my  ideas.  We  at  once  arranged  the  terms  for  an 
original  play. 

The  following  June  I  met  Maurice  Barrymore  who 
told  me  that  he  had  just  come  from  the  reading  of  my 
new  play  by  Thomas.  I  had  no  idea  that  the  play  was 
finished  nor  what  it  was  about.  Thomas  had  not  even 
sent  me  a  scenario  for  which  I  was  most  grateful  (I 
hate  scenarios;  they  are  always  so  misleading).  I 
asked  Barry  what  he  thought  about  the  play. 

"Well,  I  like  it  immensely,"  he  said,  "but  I  don't 
know  how  it  will  strike  you,  my  boy.  It  is  out  of  the 
common  and  most  original.  All  the  parts  are  excep- 
tionally well  placed." 

"What  kind  of  a  part  is  mine?"  I  asked. 

"You  play  a  Missouri  Sheriff,"  he  replied. 

"Great  Scott  I"  I  thought,  as  visions  of  a  low-browed, 
black  mustached,  heavily  armed  gentleman  appeared 
before  me.  I  could  see  myself  coming  on  and  saving 
the  heroine,  frustrating  the  plans  of  the  villain  and 
arresting  everybody  at  the  end  of  the  play. 

Barrymore  was  most  reticent  concerning  the  play  and 
non-committal  as  to  what  he  thought  it  would  yield,  or 
how  he  thought  the  character  would  suit  me.  He 
simply  said,  "Go  and  hear  Gus  read  it." 

That  evening,  a  sultry  night  in  June,  I  called  on  the 
author,  who  was  just  preparing  to  leave  for  a  holiday 
in  the  country.  The  room  was  in  disorder;  in  fact, 
there  was  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  sit  on  a  huge  Taylor 
trunk.  I  settled  back  as  best  I  could  as  Gus  quietly 
unfolded  the  script. 

I  hstened  intently  through  the  first  act  and  was  spell- 
bound.    At  the  end  of  every  act   I   simply  said,   "Go 


172  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

on,"  and  at  the  finish,  "When  do  we  produce  that 
play?"  I  wished  it  wxre  the  next  day.  "I  am  ready 
whenever  you  are,"  he  answered.  "We  got  together  in 
a  few  days  and  selected  one  of  the  best  casts  with  which 
it  has  ever  been  my  good  fortune  to  be  associated,  in- 
cluding Jeane  Claire  Walters,  Minnie  Dupree,  Mabel 
Amber,  Burr  Mcintosh,  Frank  Carlisle,  Neil  O'Brien, 
Louis  Payne  (now  the  husband  of  Mrs.  Leslie  Carter), 
Arthur  Hoops,  Louis  Barrett  and  Robert  Wilson. 

We  produced  it  at  Hooley's  Theatre,  Chicago,  in 
September,  1893,  ^"^  ^  added  one  more  success  to  my 
list  and  pegged  another  pin  in  my  crib  board  of  pathos 
as  "In  Mizzoura"  was  born. 

The  simple  little  sheriff  Jim  Radburn  I  adored.  He 
w^as  so  true,  so  lovable,  so  honest!  I  never  have  grown 
weary  of  Little  Jim.  I  have  seen  two  or  three  actors 
play  him,  but  —  whisper  —  I  really  like  my  performance 
the  best! 

The  rehearsals  of  "  In  Mizzoura"  were  replete  with  inci- 
dent. It  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  placed  myself  in 
absolute  charge  of  a  stage  manager  and  it  proved  a 
most  delightful  experience  for  one  who  had  always  borne 
the  weight  of  a  production  to  become  an  automaton, 
moved  here  and  there  under  the  guidance  of  Thomas 
who  proved  an  excellent  stage  director.  My!  How  we 
all  put  our  shoulders  to  the  wheel  after  Thomas  had 
made  clear  the  many  hidden  meanings  that  were  not 
apparent  at  the  reading!  The  play  as  read  did  not 
appeal  to  many  of  the  company.  Some  even  condoled 
with  me.  But  I  knew  we  were  right  and  we  went  ahead. 
We  called  the  company  together  on  a  Thursday,  the 
opening  being  set  a  week  from  the  following  Monday. 
W^e  rehearsed  the  entire  play  Friday,  called  the  first  act 
perfect  Saturday,  two  acts  perfect  Monday  and  the 
entire  play  perfect  Tuesday,  when  everyone  came  dead- 
letter-perfect,  as  it  is  called.     Thomas  in  the  meantime 


A  GILDED  FOOL  AND  OTHER  PLAYS  173 

had  written  in  two  new  scenes.  After  the  opening  we 
never  called  a  rehearsal  during  the  entire  season. 
I^i  We  played  to  capacity  business  for  four  weeks,  then 
foolishly  went  to  New  York,  opening  at  the  Fifth 
Avenue  Theatre,  where  the  play  failed  to  draw,  ft 
received  splendid  praise,  particularly  in  the  magazines. 
Even  the  daily  papers  praised  the  play,  but  condemned 
my  daring  to  rob  them  of  their  httle  funny  man.  I 
am  sure,  however,  that  I  pleased  the  few  who  were 
courageous  enough  to  come  and  have  a  cry  with  me. 
The  play  met  with  unqualified  success  throughout  the 
country,  with  the  exception  of  New  York  and  San 
Francisco,  the  latter  city  condemning  both  the  play  and 
yours  truly.  The  press  was  most  severe,  with  the  single 
exception  of  that  gifted  critic,  Ashton  Stevens,  who  had 
the  courage  of  his  convictions  and  whose  praise  of  both 
play  and  star  was  as  sweeping  as  the  others*  roasts  were 


severe 


In   Mizzoura**   was   the  only  hit  of  my  disastrous 
Australian  tour. 

I  consider  "In  Mizzoura'*  one  of  the  greatest  of 
American  plays. 

'    It    has    inspired    many    authors,    particularly    David 
Belasco,  author  of  "The  Girl  of  the  Golden  West.** 

Wilton  Lackaye  met  Sydney  Rosen f eld,  the  author, 
on  the  grounds  at  the  Chicago  World's  Fair.  Lackaye 
said,  "Where  are  you  going  to-night,  Sydney?*'  Sydney 
rephed,  "I'm  going  to  Thomas*  opening,  at  HooIey*s.** 
Lackaye  said,  "Well,  1*11  see  you  there  as  Tm  going  to 
Nat's  opening." 

How  clannish  we  actors  and  authors  are! 

During  one  of  the  rehearsals  of  "Mizzoura,"  Burr 
Mcintosh  and  I  had  a  scene  that  sadly  bothered  poor 
Burr.  He  fancied  that  he  must  be  a  trifle  more  pathetic 
than  I.  His  speeches  should  have  been  given  in  a  sim- 
ple,  matter-of-fact   manner,    but  as  I  used  a  low  tone 


174  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

Burr  would  go  me  one  better  until  we  were  both  down 
in  the  sub-cellar  of  the  drama!  We  went  over  the  scene 
many  times  but,  try  as  he  might,  Mcintosh  failed  to 
understand  the  meaning  or  motive  of  the  scene.  Thomas 
would  go  over  the  scene  with  me  and  place  Burr  in 
front  to  watch  it  to  endeavor  to  make  him  comprehend 
the  author's  meaning.  Then  Burr  would  try  and  try, 
always  forcing  me  to  the  basement.  Finally,  after 
hours  of  rehearsing  this  scene,  Thomas  said,  **Burr, 
stop.  The  trouble  is  you're  thinking  when  I  wrote  this 
part  I  had  you  in  my  mind.  I  did  —  but  I  wrote  it  for 
your  feet,  not  your  head." 

After  "A  Gilded  Fool"  was  launched  I  at  once  made 
a  contract  with  Carlton  for  another  play  and  in  a  few 
weeks  he  submitted  a  scenario  to  me  which  I  accepted. 
This  play  was  to  follow  "In  Mizzoura."  During  the 
interim  between  "A  Gilded  Fool"  and  "In  Mizzoura" 
Carlton  wholly  evolved  the  plot  of  "  Ambition."  In  time 
he  submitted  two  acts.  I  was  more  than  pleased  as 
the  character  of  Senator  Beck  appealed  to  me.  It  had 
a  fine  story  and  all  the  parts  were  unique  and  full  of 
character.  After  receiving  the  two  acts  I  looked  about 
for  adequate  people  for  the  roles  and  was  fortunate 
enough  to  secure  the  services  of  Annie  Russell,  Henry 
Bergman  and  Clarence  Montaine  and  with  the  other 
members  of  my  company,  I  considered  it  a  perfect  cast. 
Later  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  be  surrounded  by  such 
players  as  George  Fawcett,  Louis  Payne,  John  Saville, 
Estelle  Mortimer  and  Jeane  Claire  Walters. 

I  arranged  to  open  my  season  early  in  September  at 
Miner's  Fifth  Avenue  Theatre,  New  York,  and  called 
my  company  for  rehearsals  of  "David  Garrick."  I  was 
anxious  to  appear  in  that  role  in  New  York,  having 
previously  performed  it  on  the  road  with  some  degree  of 
success.  My  idea  was  to  put  on  "Garrick"  for  one  week 
and  follow  with  "  Ambition."     I  still  had  only  two  acts 


A  GILDED  FOOL  AND  OTHER  PLAYS  175 

of  the  Carlton  play.  I  had  been  trying  for  weeks  to 
get  possession  of  the  last  act,  having  some  anxiety  as  to 
how  Carlton  intended  ending  the  play,  but  it  was  im- 
possible to  locate  him. 

He  turned  up  on  the  first  night  of  "Garrick,"  promis- 
ing me  my  last  act  of  "Ambition"  on  the  following  day, 
assuring  me  it  was  finished.  I  waited  until  Wednesday, 
but  he  failed  to  keep  his  word.  I  knew  he  was  unre- 
liable, but  never  thought  him  ungrateful.  Through  his 
negligence  we  were  forced  to  announce  "Garrick"  for  a 
second  week.  This  was  asking  the  pubhc  to  accept  a 
pretty  tall  order,  but  there  was  no  alternative.  One 
Friday,  too  late  for  rehearsal,  I  took  it  home  with  me 
and  read  it  most  carefully  and  was  very  much  disap- 
pointed. It  plainly  showed  the  earmarks  of  hasty 
composition.  However,  there  was  no  choice  and  I 
produced  it  as  quickly  as  possible. 

On  the  first  night  we  were  all  extremely  nervous  and 
up  to  the  ending  of  the  second  act  I  thought  we  had  a 
failure.  That  ending,  however,  gave  me  a  splendid 
moment  and  I  received  several  curtain  calls.  The 
papers  were  very  kind  on  the  following  morning,  more 
so,  I  considered,  than  we  deserved.  I  played  it  two 
weeks  to  gradually  decreasing  business,  the  last  week 
being  simply  ghastly! 

I  honestly  believe  that  I  could  have  drawn  more 
money  alone,  with  a  desk  and  a  glass  of  w^ater.  I  had 
no  faith  in  the  play  and  after  the  first  performance 
began  rehearsals  of  another  called  "A  House  of  Cards" 
by  Sydney  Rosenfeld.  Previously  I  had  sent  it  into  the 
discard  after  three  rehearsals.  It  proved  worthy  of  its 
title  and  tumbled  down  shortly  after  at  the  Garden 
Theatre. 

The  manager  of  a  Philadelphia  theatre,  where  I  was 
to  open  after  the  engagement  at  the  Fifth  Avenue,  came 
over  and  saw  our  performance  of  "Ambition"  (to  a  $90 


176  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

house)  and  entered  a  most  violent  objection  to  my  ap- 
pearing at  his  theatre  in  that  play.  I  informed  him 
that  I  had  nothing  which  I  could  substitute  and  that  it 
would  take  me  at  least  two  weeks  to  prepare  any  of  the 
plays  in  my  repertoire  with  the  exception  of  "David 
Garrick."  There  was  no  alternative;  he  must  accept 
**  Ambition*'  or  close  his  theatre.  He  concluded  to  take  a 
chance  and  one  of  those  psychological  events  which 
shapes  the  destinies  of  players  took  place. 

We  opened  to  nearly  twelve  hundred  dollars  —  and 
that  was  the  lightest  house  of  the  engagement!  We 
played  to  capacity  business  there  and  everywhere  all 
through  that  season.  It  proved  to  be  one  of  my  greatest 
successes. 

I  never  understood  Carlton's  failure  to  furnish  the 
play  as  he  had  agreed  until  a  few  days  after  I  opened  in 
Philadelphia  I  read  the  announcement  of  the  production 
of  a  new  play  of  his  by  a  manager  who  had  previously 
refused  to  give  him  a  hearing.  He  forgot  (!)  I  had 
lifted  him  from  the  streets  of  Boston,  clothed  him, 
loaned  him  money,  and  taken  him  to  my  mother's 
home.  He  forgot  (!)  that  when  he  became  suddenly  ill 
it  was  my  mother  who  nursed  him  back  to  health  as  if 
he  were  one  of  her  own  children! 

The  last  time  that  I  saw  this  gifted  but  ungrateful 
man  was  a  few  years  ago  at  Atlantic  City.  He  was  a 
physical  wreck,  but  mentally  a  giant  still.  He  had 
invented  some  new  electric  appliance  and  his  mind  scin- 
tillated as  I  had  never  known  it  to  scintillate  before.  I 
knew  he  was  doomed  and  felt  grieved.  I  left  his 
chamber  with  a  heavy  heart. 

Since  writing  this  poor  Carlton  has  joined  the 
majority. 


BROAD  ST.  THEATRE. 

NIXON  &  ZIMMERMAN,  Pbopbibtom  and  iSAMAOKm. 

Engagement  of  ^^tC  ^,  C  WZ^/ 

Performance 


"^A    '^*ff 


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Otn-diy 


Admlndopgi 


DoUt.     Cto.        Dolla. 


. 


To  Chaira  in  Parquet, 

Reserved  Parquet  Circle  Chairs, 

Parquet  Circle  Admission  Tickets, .    .    .    . 

Keserved    Balcony, 

BeseiTed  Balcony  Chairs 

Balcony  Admission  Tickets 

Gallery  Tickets, 

Exchanges  from  Balcony  to  Parquet,   .    .    . 

Exchanges  from  Parqaet  Circle  to  Parquet, 

Exchanges  to  Patrqnet  Chairs, 

Exchangee, 


50 
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Ticket  Sale  for  In  Mizzoura 


Chapter  XXXVI 1 1 
GEORGE  M.  COHAN 


HAT    an    extraordinary   person    is    sunny 
George  Cohan! 

Fancy  a  young  man,  in  the  early 
thirties,  owning  his  own  playhouse,  per- 
forming there  in  the  leading  roles,  the 
author  of  his  play  and  lyrics,  the  com- 
poser of  the  music,  associate  manager  of  two  New  York 
theatres,  of  another  in  Chicago,  and  with  a  chain  of 
suburban  houses! 

This  is  making  history  with  a  vengeance.  The  posi- 
tion he  occupies  in  the  theatrical  world  has  never  been 
duplicated  and  I  doubt  if  it  ever  will  be.  With  all  his 
well-deserved  success  he  bears  himself  with  the  modesty 
of  a  well-bred  boy.  To  be  privileged  to  meet  him  in 
private  life  is  a  joy  and  delight.  You  will  find  him 
never  obtrusive  and  always  gentle  and  respectful  to  his 
elders.  One  would  never  imagine  him  a  being  of  so 
much  power.  He  fascinates  me  every  time  I  meet  him 
and  I  always  feel  an  inclination  to  put  my  hands  upon 
his  shoulders  and  just  listen  to  him  talk.  His  keen 
sense  of  humor,  combined  w^ith  his  calm  demeanor, 
always  appeals  to  me. 

How  proud  his  parents  must  feel  to  be  the  authors  of 
such  a  fascinating  book  as  Georgie  Cohan!  (I  always 
call  him  Georgie.  I  can't  help  it.  I  love  the  lad  for 
his  wonderful  versatility.) 

How  I  enjoy  the  attempts  of  some  of  the  critics,  in 
their  futile  efforts  to  slur  this  man  of  success  and  to 

177 


1 78  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

destroy  the  afFection  the  public  has  for  him!  Some  even 
accuse  him  of  being  *' common."  Good!  Bring  on 
some  more  commoners!     We  need  them! 

But  nature  is  most  discerning  in  bestowing  her  mantle 
of  genius.  She  weaves  carefully  and  adroitly  and  is 
conservative  with  her  gifts.  She  wove  her  finest  for 
clever  Georgie  and  then  destroyed  the  pattern.  She 
has  no  more  to  give. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cohan,  I  congratulate  you!  You  have 
given  the  world  a  genius! 

Hats  off  to  Georgie  Cohan! 

It  was  while  I  was  appearing  at  Ford's  Theatre  in 
Baltimore  in  191 1  that  Georgie  sent  me  a  message  which 
read  as  follows :  — 

"I  am  giving  a  supper  in  your  honor  next  Wednesday  night  at 
Friars  Club  House.      Wire  me  that  you  will  be  there." 

Immediately  I  rephed.     This  is  what  I  wrote:  — 

"I  am  there  now,  my  dear  Hector,  and  will  eat  nothing  until  I 
meet  you  Wednesday  at  the  Friars  Club  House.  Have  invited 
my  audience  to  join  me.  He  seems  an  awfully  nice  chap.  Wish- 
ing you  a  Merry  Christmas,  but  don't  you  dare  wish  me  one, 
beheve  me  always  thine, 

Ralph  Goodwin." 

Georgie  insisted  on  addressing  me  as  Mr.  Goodwin 
for  years  after  he  had  reached  a  star's  zenith.  When 
I  asked  him  to  drop  the  formality  he  said  he  simply 
could  not  do  it.  Thereupon  I  suggested  we  get  around 
it.  If  he  couldn't  call  me  Nat  maybe  he  wouldn't 
stick  on  Ralph.  And  I  in  turn  have  ever  since  dubbed 
him  Hector  —  when  we  meet! 


Chapter  XXXIX 
THOUGHTS  VAUDEVILLE-BORN 


OW  miserable  are  they  who  live  in  the 
past,  who  imagine  when  the  sun  sinks 
behind  their  horizon  it  will  never  rise 
again!  To  be  sure,  it  is  not  pleasant 
to  realize  one  is  retrograding,  yet  it  is 
better  to  forget  the  errors  of  the  past, 
realize  the  advantages  of  mistakes  and  benefit  by  them 
"than,  by  opposing,  end  them." 

During  a  short  tour  in  vaudeville  I  had  many  oppor- 
tunities for  serious  thought,  particularly  when  I  visited 
the  various  cities  where  I  previously  had  been  a  con- 
spicuous factor  in  my  profession.  As  I  contemplated 
my  name  upon  the  illuminated  signs  in  front  of  the 
vaudeville  theatres  I  also  strolled  through  the  streets 
and  gazed  at  the  names  emblazoned  in  front  of  the 
various  legitimate  theatres.  Many  had  played  in  sup- 
port of  me.  Now  they  had  usurped  my  place  in  the 
standard  playhouses.     I  was  "in  vaudeville!" 

I  reflected  upon  my  companion  players  —  the  trained 
seals,  the  amusing  monkey,  the  docile  elephant!  As  I 
wended  my  way  through  the  sawdust  path  that  led  to 
my  dressing-room  I  wondered  what  my  mission  on  earth 
really  was.  Then  philosophy  took  possession  of  me  and 
convinced  me  that  we  were  all  performing  our  respective 
duties  in  different  environments.  It  was  just  a  case  of 
"all  hands  'round  and  change  your  partners!" 

In  vaudeville  I  was  never  happy.  I  was  rather  self- 
conscious,  for  when  salary  day  came  around  I  felt  as  if 

179 


l8o  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

I  were  cheating  to  take  the  magnificent  sum  I  was  re- 
ceiving for  my  twenty-seven  minutes'  work  twice  a  day. 
Then  again  I  wondered  if  dear  old  Richard  Hooley,  in 
whose  theatre  in  Chicago  I  had  played  successfully  for 
twenty  years,  knew  of  the  evokition  that  had  placed  his 
boy,  as  he  always  called  me,  among  the  pot  pourri  of 
vaudeville.  What  would  my  good  friend,  Bob  Miles  of 
Cincinnati,  and  John  Norton  of  St.  Louis,  have  said  had 
they  seen  my  name  as  a  head-liner  in  those  cities  where 
I  had  packed  their  respective  houses? 

As  I  strolled  by  the  theatres  managed  by  those  dear, 
departed  friends  my  truant  thoughts,  much  as  I  antago- 
nized them,  would  fly  back  to  the  past.  Once  again  I 
would  go  to  the  Theatre  of  Variety  in  quest  of  "  Five 
Shillings  "  and  visions  of  a  new  and  successful  play  for 
the  next  year  or  the  one  after  would  come  with  the 
rising  sun!  When  the  clouds  came  to  obscure  the  sky 
of  hope  I  would  darken  my  chamber,  bury  the  past  and 
wait  for  the  morrow  and  accompanying  sunshine  to 
light  my  future  down  the  path  of  middle  age.   i 

In  this  precarious  profession  of  ours  we  must  accept 
defeat  with  courage.  It  should  stir  us  to  higher  aims, 
braver  deeds,  stronger  motives,  inchnations  and  honesty 
of  purpose.  Never  give  up  the  fight  so  long  as  you  have 
the  capacity  to  hit  out. 

Even  a  dying  mule  always  has  a  kick  up  his  leg. 

If  he  has  his  health  and  mentality  any  actor  under 
seventy  has  one  punch  left. 

I  simply  underwent  a  course  of  training  in  vaudeville, 
conditioning  myself  for  a  fight  to  a  finish.  I  am  ready 
at  any  time  during  the  next  ten  years  to  produce  a 
play  that  will  appeal  to  the  pubhc.  If  I  fail  to  secure 
one  —  back  to  the  ranch  and  simple  life! 

Which  will  it  be? 

I  wonder! 


Chapter  XL 
JOHN   DREW 


U|  HAVE  always  had  a  profound  respect 
and  liking  for  John  Drew's  art  and  I 
have  witnessed  his  performances  of 
many  varigated  roles.  True,  the  man's 
personality  always  transcends  the  char- 
acterization, but  isn't  that  true  of  all 
great  actors?  Those  who  talk  about  Drew  being  always 
the  same  in  every  part  are  unconsciously  paying  him 
great  homage. 

For  the  benefit  of  the  younger  members  of  my  pro- 
fession I  want  to  state  that  the  most  difficult  roles  to 
play  are  those  that  fall  to  the  hght  comedian.  He 
must  be  naturally  human  and  true,  for  he  is  portraying 
the  character  one  meets  in  every-day  hfe  and,  to  quote 
from  one  of  Boucicault's  phiys,  "The  apparatus  can't 
lie!" 

Drew  has  been  amusing  the  American  public  for  about 
thirty-five  years,  playing  himself,  I  will  admit.  But 
the  man's  personality  has  made  him  a  conspicuous  and 
an  agreeable  player.  He  has  also  been  the  means  of 
introducing  not  a  few  actresses  to  the  world  who  have 
become  famous. 

Drew  is  a  gentleman,  on  or  off  the  stage,  and  while 
many  of  the  play-folk  do  not  consider  him  a  great  actor, 
they  must  admit  that  John  is  clean  and  that  his  father 
and  mother  were  geniuses,  which  is  something  of  which 
to  be  proud. 


i8i 


Chapter  XLI 


(( 


THE  RIVALS"   REVIVAL 


|MBITION,  like  an  early  friend,  throws 
back  the  curtain  with  an  eager  hand, 
o'erjoyed  to  tell  me  what  I  dreamt  is 
true." 

It  was  with  happy  anticipation  that 
I  signed  a  contract  with  Joseph  Brooks 
to  appear  as  one  of  the  supporting  cast  with  Joseph 
Jefferson  in  an  all-star  revival  of  **The  Rivals."  The  tour 
was  suggested  by  a  performance  in  which  I  had  appeared 
for  a  benefit  given  to  that  sterling  old  player,  William 
Couldock,  by  Mr.  Jefferson  and  a  number  of  other  well 
known  players,  including  Henry  Miller,  William  H. 
Crane,  Viola  Allen  and  De  Wolf  Hopper.  This  perform- 
ance met  with  so  much  approval  and  gave  such  un- 
qualified satisfaction  that  the  charity  bestowed  upon 
Couldock  suggested  a  commercial  enterprise  and  the 
business  instincts  of  Charley  Jefferson  and  Joseph 
Brooks  suggested  a  tour  that  took  place  the  following 
spring. 

We  visited  all  the  principal  cities,  never  playing  over 
two  nights  in  one  place.  Business  was  enormous,  the 
management  clearing  many  thousands  of  dollars  during 
the  four  weeks'  tour.  We  were  the  recipients  of  many 
attentions,  our  time  being  spent  driving,  dining,  and 
visiting  various  public  institutions  and  colleges.  We 
held  impromptu  receptions  nightly  behind  the  scenes. 

A  large  table  was  always  spread  on  the  stage  laden  with 

182 


Dick  Golden 

We  were  pals  for  many  years 


"THE  RIVALS"  REVIVAL  183 

viands  and  many  distinguished  people  partook  of  our 
hospitalities.  Our  happiest  times  were  spent  in  the 
private  car  where  we  would  congregate  after  the  play 
and  spend  a  few  hours  in  anecdote  and  song.  My  con- 
tribution was  an  imitation  of  dear  old  Sol  Smith  Russell 
—  a  great  favorite  of  Mr.  Jefferson's. 

My  friend,  Fred  Stanley,  now  passed  away,  always 
proved  a  dehghtful  companion.  He  accompanied  us  on 
the  entire  trip.  I  really  don't  know  when  Freddie  slept 
on  that  trip.  When  I  inquired  how  many  hours  of 
sleep  he  averaged  out  of  the  twenty-four  he  replied,  *'I 
don't  want  to  go  to  bed.  When  you  all  retire  that 
nigger  porter  and  I  swap  stories  and  he  is  funnier  than 
the  whole  troupe!  He  has  decided  to  remain  awake  the 
entire  tour  and  I  promised  to  keep  him  company." 
And  I  really  believe  he  did. 

Every  man  on  the  trip  became  very  fond  of  Fred. 
He  was  a  source  of  great  amusement.  Poor  Fred  **went 
the  pace"  and  fmally  the  end  came  in  1903.  We  were 
pals  for  many  3'^ears.  I  am  the  only  one  of  the  original 
quartette  left  —  Tony  Hart,  Dick  Golden,  Fred  Stanley. 
They  are  all  gone  and  there  is  none  to  take  their  place. 
Only  a  memory  remains,  a  sweet  one  and  yet  how  sad! 
Be  patient,  dear  friends,  and  wait  for  me!  God  bless 
you  all! 

What  a  bright  and  effervescent  man  was  Fred  Stan- 
ley! Among  the  congratulatory  messages  that  I  received 
while  playing  in  Australia,  upon  the  announcement  of 
my  engagement  to  Miss  Maxine  Elliott,  was  one  from 
Fred.     It  read:  — 

"Congratulations,  old  man.     Pick  one  out  for  me." 

"Congratulations,  old  man.     Pick  one  out  for  me." 

A  variety  man,  with  whom  I  had  performed  years 
ago,  casually  remarked  to  Fred,  "Goodwin!  Where 
does  he  come  in?     I  started  with  him!" 

"Indeed,"  replied  Fred,  "somebody  must  have  tied 
you!" 


1 84  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

We  closed  "The  Rivals"  tour  in  one  of  the  New 
England  towns,  coming  direct  to  New  York  to  attend  an 
informal  banquet  given  to  me  at  the  Lambs  Club  by 
some  of  my  friends  previous  to  my  departure  for  Australia 
where  I  had  determined  to  go  for  reasons  which  will  be 
explained  later. 

My  star  of  destiny  was  leading  me  to  the  other  end 
of  the  world.  I  sat  down  to  the  banquet  filled  with 
forebodings.  It  was  not  the  terror  of  the  journey.  It 
was  a  premonition  that  it  was  the  wrong  thing  to  do, 
but  Fate  peeped  in  and  said,  "Go  on!" 

After  a  night  spent  in  song,  readings,  speeches,  etc., 
the  familiar  drab  dawn  suggested  that  the  time  for  part- 
ing had  arrived.  The  boys  followed  me  to  the  door  and 
as  I  started  down  the  steps  they  sang  "  Auld  Lang  Syne" 
and  I  drove  off  into  the  day. 


Chapter  XLII 
WILTON   LACKAYE 


F  all  the  players  now  members  of  the 
Lambs  Will  Lackaye  is  the  most  pro- 
nounced. 

I  am  very  fond  of  him  and  I  think  he 
likes  me  although  he  has  never  expressed 
himself  particularly  in  my  favor.  We 
were  never  pals,  as  the  word  is  now  applied,  but  in  all 
our  friendly  contests  of  badinage  we  have  always  en- 
deavored to  play  fair  with  one  another. 

Lackaye  has  a  splendid  brain,  but  he  does  not  always 
use  it  kindly.  In  this  he  has  no  hidden  motive,  but  it 
acts  quickly  and  his  tongue  responds  not  always  pleas- 
antly. His  wit  savors  more  of  the  cynic  than  the 
humorist.  He  alwavs  assails  a  citadel,  however,  never 
a  snow  fort,  and  while  his  quick  sallies  many  tim.es 
provoke  pain,  as  a  rule  they  are  given  with  a  knowledge 
that  they  vvere  well  deserved,  at  least  from  his  point  of 
view.  What  I  most  admire  about  Lackaye  is  his 
honesty  of  purpose  and  his  unflinching  courage.  In 
debate  he  shows  no  mercy  and  expects  no  quarter. 
He  has  all  the  instincts  of  the  old  school.  He  believes 
in  upholding  the  dignity  of  the  player  and  will  not 
pander  to  the  ephemeral  parasites  who  have  lately 
attached  themselves  to  the  fringe  of  the  drama,  the 
managers  **who  present." 

If  there  were  more  Lackayes  and  fewer  Cranes  the 
actor  would  soon  be  in  a  position  to  assert  his  rights 
and  maintain  them. 

185 


1 86  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

I  love  some  of  Lackaye*s  remarks,  particularly  when 
he  is  annoyed.  The  last  one  I  heard  appealed  to  me. 
It  seems  he  approached  a  very  conspicuous  actor  who 
is  now  at  his  zenith  with  a  request  to  join  the  Lambs  in 
their  forthcoming  gambol  on  tour.  Lackaye  suggested 
that  it  would  be  quite  a  novelty  for  this  player  to  revert 
to  one  of  his  old-time  specialties  and  present  a  short 
monologue  as  a  Baxter  Street  Jew,  which  once  had  made 
this  particular  actor  famous.  The  actor  who  was 
packing  a  New  York  theatre  in  a  serious  role  replied :  — 

"My  dear  Will,  your  request  is  preposterous!  I  could 
not  possibly  consider  such  an  act!  It  would  be  suicide 
for  me  after  strugghng  all  these  years  to  make  my 
public  weep  to  return  to  a  vulgar  monologue  and  make 
people  laugh!  Absurd,  my  boy,  absurd!  It  would  be 
fatal!" 

Lackaye  contemplated  him  for  a  minute,  and  re- 
marked :  — 

"My  dear ,  an  onion  will  make  anybody  cry,  but 

I  have  yet  failed  to  discover  a  vegetable  that  will  make 
people  laugh." 

Oh!  how  true  this  is!  And  yet  people  will  come  out 
of  a  theatre  with  swollen  hds,  expressing  their  dehght  at 
being  privileged  to  cry!  If  they  only  knew  how  easy 
is  the  one  and  how  difficult  the  other,  they  would  pay 
more  attention  to  the  God-gifted  one,  appreciating  the 
comic  player  who  kisses  away  the  tear  that  flows. 

My  opinion  of  Lackaye's  acting  is  only  equaled  by  his 
of  mine.  Lackaye  has  pubhshed  his  through  the  press. 
I  have  kept  mine  to  myself.  Neither  of  us  is  particu- 
larly comphmentary.  We  agree  on  art  with  reference 
to  ourselves.  , 

Neither  of  us  can  act! 


Chapter  XLIII 
"YOUNG"   MANSFIELD 


ONCE  had  a  very  dear  friend,  a  young 
man  of  splendid  dramatic  ability  with  a 
likable  but  erratic  nature.  He  is  con- 
stantly falling  in  love.  As  a  rule  his 
heart  petals  fall  to  those  of  the  opposite 
sex  far  beneath  him  intellectually.  This 
young  man  has  a  most  impressive  and  artistic  tempera- 
ment and  has  absorbed  not  a  Httle  knowledge  of  his  art 
from  the  masters. 

He  has  blazoned  this  superficial  knowledge  to  such 
an  extent  that  he  has  grown  to  believe  that  he  is  a  most 
important  and  necessary  adjunct  to  his  profession.  If 
he  were  possessed  of  the  knowledge  he  imagines  he  has 
he  would  be  a  genius! 
As  it  is  he  is  a  nuisance! 

He  has  succeeded  in  making  many  enemies  by  his 
aggressive  and  argumentative  manner  in  which  only  a 
genius  can  indulge.  He  has  never  annoyed  me  for  I 
love  his  spontaneity  and  his  youth.  He  has  emulated 
the  acts  of  several  stars  and,  like  the  aspiring  pugilist 
who  is  ever  ready  to  assume  the  name  of  a  champion 
older  in  experience,  such  as  "Young"  Corbett  or 
"Young"  Fitzsimmons,  he  delights  in  being  known  as 
"Young"  Mansfield.  He  has  some  charm  and  is  most 
convincing  to  those  who  are  not  conversant  with  his 
methods. 

He  has  succeeded  in  interesting  several  conspicuous 
people  —  milHonaires  and  prominent  theatrical  and  oper- 

187 


1 88  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

atic  stars,  including  a  prima  donna  known  to  fame. 
The  latter  became  interested  in  him  to  such  an  extent 
that  an  amour  sprang  up  and  they  disappeared  for  a 
time  (that  is  they  imagined  they  had,  but  delightful 
Paris,  which  always  treats  such  vagaries  as  they  deserve, 
was  fully  cognizant  of  the  situation,  looked  on  and 
smiled). 

I  was  ignorant  of  their  rendezvous.  I  never  imagined 
that  the  lady  whom  he  had  mentioned  to  me  as  being 
mildly  interested  in  him  was  in  the  same  country  until 
one  day  during  a  visit  to  a  nerve  specialist,  to  whom 
this  young  man  had  recommended  me,  the  man  of 
medicine  remarked:  — 

"I  was  at  the  Opera  last  night  and  bowed  to  your 

young    friend but    he    failed    to    acknowledge    the 

salutation.  He  concealed  himself  behind  the  curtains 
of  the  box  he  was  occupying,  evidently  not  seeking 
recognition.  That  was  unnecessary  as  I  am  on  the 
board  of  directors  at  the  Grand  Opera  House  and  sent 

the    box   to    Madam     whose   guest    your   young 

friend  was.  Why  should  he  disguise  the  fact  that  he 
was  her  friend?" 

Is  that  known  in  Paris?"  I  gasped. 
Certainly,"  he  answered. 

"And  does  it  not  affect  the  Iady*s  social  and  pro- 
fessional standing?"  I  queried. 

"My  friend,"  replied  the  doctor,  "we  love  artists; 
we  question  not  the  motives  that  make  them  artists,  be 
it  illicit  love  or  sanctioned.  It's  all  the  same;  they  are 
creatures  of  caprice  and  have  many  nests." 

"Does  that  apply  to  private  life  in  Paris?"  I  asked. 

"Certainly,"  quoth  the  Philosopher  of  Nerves. 
"Why,  it  is  most  difficult  to  give  a  dinner  party  these 
days.  One  cannot  invite  the  husband  without  first 
ascertaining  the  name  of  his  affinity,  nor  the  wife 
without    knowing    the    name   of  her    sweetheart.     My 


"YOUNG"   MANSFIELD  189 

wife  always  arranges  the  table  to  avoid  awkward 
complications.'* 

I  thought  how  delightfully  naive  and  completely 
perfect  was  their  understanding.  That  splendid  point 
of  view  was  unlike  the  ostrich  methods  in  vogue  in 
London  and  insular  New  York. 

No  wonder  my  young  friend  and  his  prima  donna  met 
with  disaster  when  they  crossed  the  Channel  I 

But  I  admire  him  and  his  audacity. 


Chapter  XLIV 
DAVID  WARFIELD 


ANY  years  ago  while  I  was  playing  at 
the  Bush  Street  Theatre,  San  Francisco, 
a  lad  of  about  twenty,  of  Hebraic 
appearance,  was  constantly  seated  on 
the  left-hand  aisle  watching  each  per- 
formance with  evident  dehght.  As  I 
would  come  from  the  theatre  he  would  follow  me,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  street,  now  and  then  stopping  to 
point  me  out  to  some  boy  friend. 

One  day  I  smiled  at  him  and  his  face  beamed  with 
apparent  pleasure.  After  that  I  often  watched  for  my 
silent  admirer. 

Many  years  after  I  backed  an  enterprise  in  which  he 
was  featured  —  and  lost  ten  thousand  dollars !  Later 
he  became  a  leading  fixture  at  Weber  and  Fields'  Music 
Hall  and  made  a  pronounced  success. 

During  my  second  engagement  at  the  Knickerbocker 
Theatre  he  was  always  a  visitor.  He  no  longer  sat  on 
the  aisle,  however.  I  always  sent  him  a  private  box. 
My  youthful  admirer  who  had  blossomed  forth  as  a 
star  in  the  Weber  and  Fields'  aggregation  is  now  one  of 
the  most  famous  of  American  actors.  His  name  is 
David  Warfield. 

After  witnessing  Warfield's  great  portrayal   in    "The 
Music  Master"  I  began  to  beheve  in  the  star  of  destiny. 
I  saw  a  man  give  a  performance  worthy  of  a  master. 
And  he  was  without  even  the  fundamental  knowledge 

of  his  art! 

190 


DAVID  WARFIELD  191 

Springing  from  obscure  parents,  with  not  an  ounce  of 
hereditary  theatrical  blood  in  his  veins,  naturally  reti- 
cent, with  a  face  not  particularly  attractive,  save  for  a 
searching  and  penetrating  eye,  a  mind  alert,  a  shuffling 
gait  —  this  is  the  man  who  on  the  stage  is  able  to  trans- 
form himself  into  one  of  the  most  sympathetic  beings 
that  I  ever  saw. 

With  a  move  of  the  hand  he  is  grace  itself.  His 
delivery  of  lines  bespeaks  him  a  scholar.  His  face  shines 
like  one  sent  from  the  Deity! 

The  various  emotions  through  which  he  passed  in  the 
sweetly  harrowing  (but  inferior!)  play,  from  gay  to 
grave,  from  pathos  to  comedy  and  from  that  to  tragedy, 
were  expressed  with  a  deftness  and  surety  of  touch  — 
why,  he  sailed  along  with  the  assurance  of  a  bird  in  its 
flight!  Every  effect  he  handled  like  a  master!  And 
when  he  made  his  exit  up  the  miserable  staircase,  you 
realized  that  you  had  been  entertained  by  an  artist! 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  write  about  such  a  man,  particu- 
larly one  who  wears  the  wreath  of  laurel  so  modestly, 
who  apparently  realizes  so  fully  the  kindness  of  the  gods ! 
And  the  gods  help  only  those  who  help  themselves. 

Dear  David,  you  deserve  all  that  has  been  bestowed! 
Friend,  I  congratulate  you,  am  proud  to  know  you  and 
feel  privileged  to  call  you  by  that  much  abused  name. 


Chapter  XLV 
A   DAY  AT  RENO 


inMAGINE  over  sixteen  thousand  human 
beings  filing  slowly  from  a  cemetery 
where  departed  heroes  have  been  put 
away  from  earthly  cares!  Imagine  their 
conversation  in  hushed  whispers,  their 
bowed  heads,  smothered  ejaculations! 
Hear  the  mumbled  accusations  emanating  from  a  few  of 
the  unpleasant!  So  you  will  have  a  faint  idea  of  the 
feelings  of  that  motley,  silent  crowd  which  wended  its 
way  home  after  the  Johnson-Jeffries  contest  at  Reno, 
July  4,  1910. 

When  that  human  statue  sank  into  obscurity  through 
the  center  ropes,  half  of  the  huge  bulk  hanging  listlessly 
on  the  outside,  with  the  httle  Spartan,  Abe  Attell, 
vainly,  endeavoring  to  push  the  great  wreck  back  into 
the  arena  (while  the  magnificent  grinning  piece  of  ebony 
was  standing  with  clenched  fists  and  wicked  expression 
ready  to  administer  the  quietus  that  was  within  his 
power),  a  hush  fell  upon  the  assemblage. 

All  turned  their  heads  as  the  inanimate  fighter  showed 
signs  of  returning  consciousness.  The  ponderous  Jeff 
with  the  aid  of  Attell  and  others  slowly  unwound  him- 
self from  the  meshes  of  rope  and  regained  his  equihb- 
rium,  only  to  be  crushed  again  to  the  boards  by  the 
powerful  fists  of  his  adversary.  Then  a  smothered  cry 
from  the  spectators  and  all  was  over.  The  mangled 
gladiator  was  carried  bleeding  and  bruised  to  his  corner 
and    another   champion    was    heralded    throughout    the 

world. 

192 


A  DAY  AT  RENO  193 

I  have  never  witnessed  such  a  spectacle.  What  a 
hollow  victory!  What  a  disgraceful  defeat!  It  was  a 
defeat  without  pity,  success  without  compliment!  And 
yet  it  was  a  battle  fought  by  two  of  the  most  magnifi- 
cent specimens  of  humanity  ever  chiseled  by  nature's 
journeymen! 

At  the  beginning  they  were  magnificent  —  from  the 
throat  down!  Their  faces  were  not  in  harmony  with 
their  bodies.  As  each  of  these  warriors  stood  in  his 
corner  ready  for  the  fray  I  looked  from  one  to  the  other 
and  as  my  eye  travelled  from  their  feet  to  their  heads  I 
was  dumbfounded  at  what  their  faces  depicted. 

Both  had  the  expression  of  the  craven!  On  each  was 
the  apprehension  of  impending  danger  accurately  de- 
fined; alarm,  dread,  terror  were  imprinted  indelibly 
upon  each  countenance,  the  negro  trying  to  force  saliva 
into  a  mouth  as  dry  as  an  oven,  endeavoring  to  smile 
while  his  jaws  worked  like  the  jaws  of  a  hyena.  Poor 
Jeff  stood  up,  but  only  for  a  second.  His  ponderous 
legs  refused  to  bear  his  weight  of  worry!  They  trembled 
so  perceptibly  that  he  was  forced  to  seek  his  chair  when 
his  knees  began  to  knock  against  each  other  in  angry 
protests  at  what  they  were  expected  to  perform. 

It  was  past  belief — strong  men,  equally  capable  of 
performing  any  feat  of  physical  prowess,  whose  brains 
refused  to  obey  their  wills!  Each  knew  his  terrible 
responsibility,  but  the  gray  matter  refused  to  supply 
the  necessary  oil  to  put  the  engines  to  work.  Millions 
were  waiting  to  hear  the  result. 

I  don't  accuse  either  of  abject  cowardice.  I  believe 
that  at  that  moment  Jeffries  would  have  faced  a  cannon 
and  awaited  the  result  as  befits  a  soldier  in  battle.  His 
trouble  was  that  he  was  not  the  man  of  brain  who  could 
assume  a  responsibility. 

Grant  sacrificed  thousands  of  men  to  attain  a  result. 
He  would  wilhngly   have  given   his  life  if  necessary  a 


< 


194  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

thousand  times,  but  he  was  man  enough  to  live  for  a 
cause,  not  die  for  it!  Jeff,  having  a  little  more  brain 
than  his  aboriginal  antagonist,  suffered  more,  hence  his 
greater  terror. 

As  the  bell  rang  for  the  commencement  of  hostilities 
Jeffries,  instead  of  rushing  at  his  dusky  opponent, 
assumed  a  defensive  attitude,  disobeying  all  instruc- 
tions, all  thought-out  intentions.  He  had  planned  his 
battle  as  every  general  does,  the  night  before,  but  in 
the  ring  he  threw  away  all  his  plans  and  obeyed  the 
dictation  of  a  puny,  tired,  unresponsive  brain.  With 
every  step  he  retreated  the  negro's  courage  gained  and 
as  the  round  progressed  his  assurance  became  more 
manifest.  Confidence  took  the  place  of  fear  and  as 
the  bell  rang  to  signify  the  end  of  the  round  victory 
shone  in  the  negro's  face  and  the  knell  of  defeat  had 
sounded  for  Jeff. 

The  king  was  dying,  but  not  the  death  of  a  coura- 
geous man.  He  was  dying,  retreating,  not  advancing. 
The  body  was  willing,  but  the  brain  was  dead.  Re- 
sponsibility was  the  referee  that  counted  out  Jeff! 
That  is  the  truth  of  this,  the  greatest  and  yet  the 
weakest  battle  ever  fought. 

Let  us  draw  a  curtain  over  the  Reno  desert  and  be 
charitable  to  Jeff.  God  gave  him  brawn,  but  denied 
him  the  necessary  brain  to  equalize  it  all. 

Perhaps  it's  all  for  the  best.  There's  a  cloud  on  the 
horizon  of  Fistiana.  Perhaps  a  bright  young  American 
may  burst  through,  the  sun  may  shine  once  more  and  a 
white  American,  impervious  to  mental  collapse,  may 
wear  the  laurel  of  champion. 

Let  us  hope  so. 

I  had  taken  a  party  of  friends  from  New  York  to  see 
the  fight.  We  had  travelled  in  a  private  car  —  and  the 
return  trip  had  been  paid  for  in  advance!  As  we  left 
the  arena  and  headed  back  to  town   not  one  of  us, 


A  DAY  AT  RENO  195 

hardened  sports  as  we  all  were,  not  one  of  us  remem- 
bered that  we  had  a  fleet  of  automobiles  waiting  to  take 
us  to  our  car.  We  walked  right  by  them!  It  was  the 
longest,  hottest,  dustiest  tramp  I  ever  took. 

Arrived  in  the  car  someone  broke  the  silence  with  the 
suggestion  that  the  first  man  who  referred  to  the  fight 
be  thrown  off  the  car.  Our  silence  gave  assent.  As 
there  was  nothing  else  in  the  world  to  talk  about  —  we 
kept  still,  how  long  I  don't  know,  but  it  seemed  hours. 

Finally  big  George  Considine  realized  his  throat  was 
parched  and  he  pushed  a  button.  Up  to  that  moment 
the  summons  had  never  failed  to  produce  our  grinning 
porter  from  the  httle  buff"et  instantly.  This  time  there 
was  no  response.  George  pressed  the  button  a  second 
time.  We  all  heard  the  bell  distinctly.  All  of  us  had 
his  gaze  fixed  on  the  bufi'et  door.  Again  George  rang 
the  bell  and  this  time  he  kept  his  thumb  jammed 
against  the  button.  Then  he  got  to  his  feet  and  de- 
clared himself. 

**If  that  nigger  is  in  that  buffet  he'll  never  come  out 
now  —  alive!"     And  with  that  he  started. 

We  all  sat  tight  and  waited.  In  less  than  a  minute 
George  reappeared  —  laughing  hysterically.  For  an  in- 
stant I  thought  the  terrible  shock  of  the  afternoon  had 
aff^ected  his  mind. 

"Is  he  dead?"  someone  gasped. 

"Nearly  so,"  repHed  George,  choking  with  glee.  "You 
know  I  went  in  there  firmly  determined  to  kill  him. 
But  the  minute  he  saw  me  he  covered  his  face  with 
both  hands  and  said,  *Fo'  Gawd's  sake,  Mr.  Gawge, 
don'  hit  me.  I'm  good  for  nothin'.  I  caint  hft  a  glass, 
let  alone  serve  a  drink.  I'm  so  weak.'  I  asked  him 
why.  *WeII,  you  see,  Mr.  Gawge,  I've  been  savin' 
and  savin'  fo'  a  year  evah  dollah  I  could  scrap  together; 
borrowed  from  my  wife  and  soaked  my  watch  at 
Chicawgo.     I   had  six  hunderd  dollahs  on  my  pusson 


196  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

when  I  got  heah  and  it  was  all  goin'  on  Mr.  Johnson. 
But  on  this  trip,  listenin'  to  all  you  gemmen  talk  I  got 
so  I  couldn't  see  Mr.  Johnson  nohow  and  switched  and 
my  money  all  went  on  Mr.  Jeffies.  When  Mr.  JefTies 
received  that  awful  wallop  in  the  second  round  I  said 
goodbye,  wife  and  cPiillen,  and  when  he  was  knocked 
out  —  I  went  with  him!  And  I  haven't  come  to  yet!'" 
We  finally  managed  to  induce  him  to  come  out  of  the 
buffet  and  told  him  we'd  try  to  make  him  a  little  less 
miserable  by  chipping  in  on  a  purse  for  him.  Some- 
body passed  the  hat.  I  threw  in  all  I  had  in  cash  and 
I    imagine   every   one   else  did.     The   total   count   was 

I  thought  we  ought  to  cheer  him  up  further  and  told 
him  I  would  give  him  a  good  thing  on  the  next  fight. 
He  just  looked  at  me  a  minute,  his  black  eyes  nearly 
popping  out  of  his  head,  then  indicating  the  bih's  and 
silver  in  his  hand  said  solemnly,  "Me?  ME,  bet  on  a 
prize  fight?  Why  guv'nor,  I  wouldn't  bet  this  money 
that  Mr.  Johnson  has  licked  Mr.  Jeffies." 


Chapter  XLVI 

LILLIAN   RUSSELL 

HAT  a  beautiful  and   misunderstood  wo- 
man is  Lillian  Russell! 

One  reads  only  of  her  wondrous 
beauty,  her  splendid  preservation  and 
her  marriages  —  seldom  of  her  talents ! 
Possessing  the  soul  of  a  saint,  the 
true  spirit  of  comedy,  the  repose  of  a  Siddons,  she  must 
see  all  these  splendid  gifts  made  subservient  to  vulgar 
allusions  regarding  her  private  life,  all  cruel  and  abso- 
lutely false! 

All  through  life  she  has  endeavored  to  obtain  only  a 
home  to  enable  her  to  bring  her  child  up  an  honest 
woman.  She  has  tried  only  to  make  her  hand  strong 
enough  to  keep  and  guide  her.  And  these  efforts  have 
been  as  futile  as  her  success  as  an  artiste  has  been 
assured.  Who  shall  say  it  is  not  the  fault  of  those  who 
have  pointed  the  finger  of  scorn  at  a  woman  seeking  only 
to  do  right? 

Lillian  Russell  is  first  and  always  an  artiste;  honest 
to  those  who  can  appreciate  trust  and  fidelity;  never  a 
knocker;  the  fairest  actress  and  singer  that  ever  shared 
applause  with  a  brother  or  sister  artist;  without  a 
desire  to  dissipate;  a  true  companion  and  possessor  of 
all  the  attributes  that  make  a  true  woman. 
Miss  Russell,  I  kiss  your  hand. 


»97 


Chapter  XLVII 
DRAMATIC  SCHOOLS 


ALWAYS  lacked  the  moral  courage  to 
ask  any  member  of  my  organization  to 
resign,  no  matter  what  provocation  I 
might  have.  In  my  entire  experience 
I  have  discharged  two  actors  —  both 
actresses ! 

One  of  these  was  hardly  more  than  a  girl,  most  in- 
telligent and  rather  pretty,  who  was  sent  to  me  highly 
recommended  and  said  to  possess  marked  histrionic 
abilities.  She  had  appeared  successfully  in  amateur 
performances  of  Shakespearean  roles  and  taken  first 
prize  at  one  of  the  modern  schools  of  acting. 

I  cast  her  for  a  very  minor  role  in  one  of  my  plays. 
In  one  scene  where  she  had  to  criticize  a  picture  of  a 
celebrated  artist  in  a  speech  of  about  fifteen  lines  (which 
required  an  intelligent  rendering  and  a  delivery  which 
demanded  at  least  elocutionary  ability)  she  floundered 
about  in  a  most  incoherent  and  jumbling  manner. 
And  when  she  came  to  the  particular  speech  for  which 
I  was  sure  she  was  qualified,  the  amateur  Juliet  fell, 
balcony  and  all! 

I  never  saw  such  an  exemplification  of  incapacity! 
It  was  a  verification  of  what  I  have  ahvays  felt  regard- 
ing "schools  of  acting."  There  have  been  a  few,  a  very 
few,  graduates  of  the  supposed  academies  of  acting  who 
have  made  successes  on  the  legitimate  stage.  But  it 
was  brought  about  only  by  discarding  the  methods  of 
these  bunco  professors,   who  dare  to  teach  an  art  of 

which  they  know  not. 

198 


DRAMATIC  SCHOOLS  199 

The  so-called  professors  of  these  schools  as  a  rule  have 
had  their  fundamental  knowledge  of  the  theatre  only 
through  books,  and  if  an  actor  hangs  out  his  sign  you 
will  find  that  his  career  has  spelt  failure  or  that  he  has 
become  so  pedantic  that  all  theories  of  modern  acting 
have  been  swept  past  his  horizon. 

I  maintain  that  acting,  if  it  can  be  taught  at  all, 
should  be  taught  by  an  actor.  Elocution  and  emphasis 
can  be  taught  by  a  plumber  or  a  gunman  with  the 
requisite  authorities  at  hand.  But  even  when  those 
quahties  are  mastered  they  belong  to  the  rostrum,  not 
to  the  playhouse. 

Acting  is  elementary  and  can  be  taught  only  by  sug- 
gestion. Emotions  can  be  transmitted  only  through 
psychological  channels  and  facial  expression.  They 
cannot  be  taught.  They  are  absorbed  by  those  born 
with  the  talent  for  acting.  Unless  one  is  blessed  w^ith 
this  talent  all  the  professors  of  elocution  or  so-called 
"teachers  of  dramatic  art"  cannot  make  an  actor  or 
actress. 

Granting  that  once  in  a  w^hile  a  budding  genius  has 
blossomed  forth  from  one  of  these  academies  it  is  the 
exception  that  proves  the  rule.  And  even  those  who 
have  graduated  find  it  difficult  to  unlearn  all  that  they 
have  been  taught.  A  school  of  acting,  properly  organ- 
ized, would  do  no  harm,  but  the  student  should  be  given 
his  little  speech  to  speak,  then  directed  as  to  what  not 
to  do  and  the  process  of  elimination  continued  until 
such  times  as  he  becomes  at  least  an  intelligent  inter- 
preter of  what  he  is  supposed  to  perform.  For  all  of  the 
arts  acting  most  requires  practical  demonstration.  And 
that  can  be  taught  only  by  professional  tutors. 

And  how  few  are  quahfied  to  teach!  One  may  have 
the  power  to  portray  without  the  ability  to  impart. 
That  is  why  the  stage  manager  is  in  such  demand. 
So  much  more  is  demanded  of  the  actor  and  actress 


200  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

than  the  mere  delivery  of  lines.  It  would  take  many 
pages  to  illustrate  what  I  mean,  but  as  a  rule  in  all  these 
schools  that  dot  the  country  very  little  attention  is 
given  to  the  technique  of  stagecraft.  It  is  .always  lines, 
lines,  lines,  emphasis,  intonation,  etc.  The  system  of 
Delsarte  which  devotes  most  time  to  the  manner  of 
making  an  entrance  or  an  exit  is  of  little  value  for 
fitting  a  student  for  the  stage. 

There  are  a  few  dramatic  schools  in  Europe.  In 
France  they  have  the  conservatories,  the  professors  of 
which  have  either  graduated  from  the  Theatre  Fran- 
faise  or  are  men  of  letters,  qualified  to  teach.  They  are 
subsidized  by  the  government  and  no  one  is  allowed  a 
course  of  learning  unless  he  passes  a  rigid  examination. 
If  the  ambitious  show  no  qualifications  they  are  not 
admitted.  In  this  country'-  they  come  from  Haber- 
dashers* County,  the  salesroom  or  bankers'  homes.  It 
is  only  a  question  of  money.  If  they  have  the  necessary 
wherewithal  it's  an  open  sesame.  I  maintain  that  it  is 
all  wrong  and  the  ** professors"  who  are  opening  the 
doors  of  dramatic  art  to  the  incompetent  at  so  much  a 
quarter  are  obtaining  money  under  false  pretenses. 


In  Mizzoura 

One  of  the  greatest  of  American  plays 


Chapter  XLV III 


NUMBER  THREE   (ALMOST) 

LONG,  long  time  ago,  while  I  was  play- 
ing in  Paris  (Kentucky!)  a  party  of 
ladies  and  gentlemen  came  down  from 
Mount  Sterling  to  witness  our  perform- 
ance thinking  they  could  leave  Paris  and 
get  to  Lexington  the  same  evening. 
Unfortunately  the  railroad  had  changed  its  schedule  and 
there  was  no  train  out  until  the  following  morning. 
My  private  car  was  waiting  for  me  and  I  had  taken  the 
precaution  to  charter  an  engine  to  take  me  back  to 
Lexington  after  the  performance.  When  I  arrived  at 
the  station  I  found  the  party  very  much  disturbed  at 
the  prospect  of  having  to  remain  in  Paris  over  night. 

I  sent  my  secretary  to  them  and  he  placed  my  car  at 
their  disposal.  He  told  them  that  there  was  a  nice 
supper  prepared  and  that  they  were  welcome  to  what- 
ever the  chef  could  furnish.  I  would  remain  in  my 
stateroom  and  not  interfere  with  their  party.  They 
accepted  the  invitation,  but  insisted  that  I  join  their 
party  which  consisted  of  three  men  and  three  women. 

One  young  lady  in  particular  attracted  my  attention 
with  her  radiant  beauty.  She  was  a  magnificent  crea- 
ture, blonde  and  erect,  possessing  the  complexion  given 
only  to  those  living  in  the  Blue  Grass  country.  During 
the  journey  I  had  little  time  to  talk  with  her  as  one  of 
the  other  young  ladies  who  came  from  Boston  usurped 
all  my  time  discussing  the  drama  and  other  topics 
equally  uninteresting  to  me. 


201 


202  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

The  beautiful  blonde  lady  told  the  manager  of  the 
theatre  at  Lexington  (he  was  a  friend  of  hers,  as  well  as 
of  mine)  that  she  considered  me  a  very  dull  person. 
The  manager  defended  me  as  best  he  could  and  told  her 
that  I  was  to  dine  with  his  family  that  night  and 
he  would  be  pleased  to  have  her  do  Hkewise.  She 
consented  and  that  evening  we  met  and  had  a  jolly 
time. 

I  found  her  most  intelhgent  and  so  far  as  my  career 
on  and  off  the  stage  was  concerned  she  was  a  walking 
encyclopedia.  In  fact  she  knew  more  about  my  vagaries 
than  I  did  myself,  but  as  we  progressed  along  lines  of 
casual  conversation  I  thought  that  I  discovered  a  little 
scepticism  relative  to  my  supposed  prochvities  for 
wrong-doing.  She  asked  me  if  I  desired  any  beverage 
and  I,  trying  to  display  proper  gallantry,  suggested  the 
cool  and  refreshing  draught,  the  wine  of  the  country, 
Kentucky  Bourbon. 

As  she  poured  out  a  small  glass  of  the  liquor  she 
remarked,  "I  really  thought  that  you  were  going  to  ask 
for  a  glass  of  metheglin." 

"I  have  been  drinking  the  ingredients  which  form  that 
com.pound  the  entire  evening,"  I  replied. 

She  looked  at  me  very  intently  as  I  swallowed  the 
whiskey,  then  suddenly  wheeled  about  and  with  a  half 
hysterical  note  in  her  voice,  said,  '*!  don't  believe  it!'* 

Not  having  the  remotest  idea  as  to  what  she  had 
reference  I  answered,  '*No  more  do  I!" 

She  then  said,  "You  don't  understand!"  I  gasped, 
"Quite  right!"  She  gently  took  my  hand  in  hers  and 
in  a  sweet,  sad  voice  said :  — 

"You  need  a  friend.  Let  me  be  your  little  friend. 
I  know  all  about  you.  For  years  you  have  been  my 
favorite  player  and  I  have  read  all  the  uncomplimentary 
articles  written  about  you.  Your  gambling  escapades, 
your  supposed  capacity  for  drink,  your  amours,  scandals, 


NUMBER  THREE   (ALMOST)  203 

in  fact  everything  pertaining  to  your  private  life  have 
interested  me  for  years.  But  as  I  have  read  and  re-read 
these  accusations,  which  I  know  now  to  be  absolutely 
false,  I  fail  to  discover  where  you  had  wronged  anybody 
but  yourself!" 

It  was  the  first  time  that  anyone  had  spoken  to  me 
like  that,  with  the  exception  of  my  Httle  mother,  and 
her  words  sank  'way  down  deep  into  my  heart.  We 
talked  for  several  hours,  in  fact,  until  the  dawn  ap- 
proached, but  we  interested  each  other  to  such  an  extent 
that  neither  was  conscious  of  the  departing  night  until 
we  were  rudely  told  by  our  hostess  that  our  conduct  was 
most  disreputable  and  that  the  best  place  for  me  was  a 
berth  in  my  private  car.  During  our  conversation  I  had 
tried  to  convince  her  that  I  was  pretty  bad,  but  not  so 
bad  as  Joe  Jefferson  painted. 

After  leaving  Lexington  I  corresponded  with  her  for 
some  httle  time.  Finally  I  heard  that  her  parents  were 
objecting  and  I  told  her  that  we  must  discontinue  our 
correspondence.  She  refused  to  act  upon  my  advice 
and  insisted  upon  communicating  with  me  once  or 
twice  a  week.  I  answered  her  letters  with  the  result 
that  we  became  engaged.  But  my  friend  Fate  again 
cam.e  upon  the  scene  and  exercised  his  authority. 

I  left  "The  Rivals"  tour  with  a  heavy  heart,  for 
several  reasons.  I  had  signed  a  contract  for  a  sixteen 
weeks'  tour  in  Austraha.  Many  wondered  why.  I  sent 
out  the  rumor  that  it  was  to  see  the  country  and  to 
further  my  artistic  desires. 

The  real  reason?     I  was  running  away  from  a  woman. 

Cowardly?     Well,  let's  reason  it  out. 

Briefly  the  young  lady  from  Kentucky  and  I  met 
many  tim.es  after  our  first  interview  and  a  friendship 
sprang  up  that  soon  ripened  into  love.  I  saw  a  way  of 
releasing  myself  from  my  second  marriage.  The  lady 
who  bore  my  name  accepted  a  large  sum  of  money  and 


204  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

allowed  me  to  procede.  My  plans  were  all  laid.  I 
brought  suit  in  a  town  in  lower  California. 
,  But  now  a  friend  of  the  Kentucky  young  lady  warned 
me  against  proceeding  and  met  me  in  Louisville.  She 
told  me  that  my  fiancee  had  informed  her  parents  of 
her  intentions  and  they  were  furious,  had  entered  all 
sorts  of  protests  and  threatened  even  violence.  I 
listened  very  quietly,  waiting  to  learn  my  fiancee's 
attitude.  She  was  determined  and  defiant  and  meant 
to  go  through. 

I  told  her  friend  that  I  could  readily  understand  the 
attitude  of  the  young  lady's  family  and  endorsed  it. 
What  did  they  know  of  me  except  through  the  news- 
papers? I  should  not  care  to  entrust  my  daughter  or 
sister  to  the  keeping  of  a  man  with  my  unsavory  reputa- 
tion. I  promised  then  and  there  that  I  would  endeavor 
to  break  the  engagement  and  her  friend  left  very  much 
delighted.  I  took  the  matter  up  with  the  young  lady, 
but  she  refused  absolutely  to  annul  the  agreement. 
She  even  threatened  to  leave  her  home  and  join 
me.  Of  course  I  soon  argued  her  out  of  that  determi- 
nation. But  the  most  she  agreed  to  was  to  wait  until 
such  time  as  I  should  be  free. 

I  had  determined  upon  my  course.  By  various  means 
I  had  fathomed  the  whole  situation.  She  was  the 
favorite  daughter  of  a  very  large  family.  Her  father, 
passed  beyond  the  eighties,  fairly  worshipped  her. 
Her  brother  simply  idolized  her.  Was  it  fair  to  break 
up  this  happy  home?  I  could  only  answer  my  own 
question  negatively.  I  sent  for  one  of  the  members  of 
the  family.  He  came,  unknown  to  her,  and  I  suggested 
that  I  go  at  once  to  Europe  and  remain  there  for  a  year. 

"That  won't  do,"  he  said.  "She  will  follow  you. 
We  can  do  nothing  with  her  at  home;  she  is  a  deter- 
mined woman  and  has  made  up  her  mind." 

''While  talking  I  thought  of  an  offer  I  had  received 


NUMBER  THREE   (ALMOST)  205 

for  an  Australian  tour  and  excusing  myself  I  went  to  the 
telegraph  office.  Presently  I  came  back  with  a  copy  of 
a  wire  to  George  Musgrove  which  I  had  just  sent  to 
New    York.     It    read: 

"Accept  Australian  terms.  Open  June  twenty-fifth.  If  suc- 
cessful will  continue  to  India,  South  Africa  and  London." 

**WiII  that  satisfy  you  and  the  members  of  your 
family?"  I  asked. 

"Come  and  have  a  drink!"  he  replied  and  over  an 
apple  toddy  informed  me  that  I  was  a  good  fellow. 
He  took  the  next  train  for  Lexington  leaving  me  alone 
at  the  Gait  House  bar  with  my  thoughts  and  an  apple 
toddy! 

Ahead  I  saw  only  a  trip  of  ten  thousand  miles  to  an 
unknown  country,  which  I  had  no  desire  to  visit,  and  a 
divorce  procedure  under 'way  that  had  cost  me  thousands 
to  bring  about.  I  was  about  to  leave  friends,  family 
and  a  woman  who  was  sure  to  loathe  my  name  when 
she  heard  of  my  act  —  and  all  for  what? 

It  was  simply  to  appease  the  transient  sorrow  of  a 
family  too  selfish  to  allow  their  ofTspring  to  obey  the 
dictates  of  her  own  honest  heart.  They  had  no  thought 
of  her  anguish,  her  future  and  as  for  me  —  of  what 
matter  my  end?  The  profligate  could  go  on  his  way 
destroying  more  homes  to  build  one  of  his  own,  take  a 
journey  into  other  lands  in  quest  of  more  victims,  etc! 

If  I  had  only  been  more  selfish,  what  a  different  life 
mine  w^ould  have  been!  Not  that  I  am  ashamed  of  an}^ 
act  of  my  past,  but  the  impressions  I  have  un\\ittingly 
made  would  never  have  been  made;  my  inclinations 
would  have  been  established;  my  true  motives  known 
to  the  world,  and  children,  perhaps,  be  born  to  endorse 
my  attitude  toward  mankind! 

Fate  said  "No,"  and  I  began  my  journey  to  the 
Antipodes,  leaving  as  a  legacy  to  the  Kentucky  woman 
—  a  lie! 


2o6  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

Fifteen  years  later  we  met  in  New  York.  We  drove 
through  Central  Park  and  I  told  her  the  truth.  When 
I  had  finished  she  said  nothing;  for  almost  an  hour  we 
drove  in  silence.  She  then  turned  to  me  and  simply 
rephed,  "Well  I've  waited  all  these  years  to  prove  what 
I  thought  was  true.  It  is  over  now  and  I  presume  we 
both  are  happy.'* 

Are  we?     I  wonder! 

It  was  Poe  who  wrote  Annabel  Lee :  — 

The  moon  never  beams 
Without  bringing  me  dreams 
Of  my  beautiful  Annabel  Lee- 
It  is  a  strange  world.     The  young  lady  married  some 
few  years  ago.     I  hope  she  is  happy;  she  deserves  to  be. 


Chapter  XLIX 


THE  CONFESSIONAL 

Happy  the  man,  and  happy  he  alone, 

He  who  can  call  to-day  his  own; 

He,  who,  secure  within,  can  say: 

"Tomorrow,  do  thy  worst,  for  I  have  lived  to-day!" 

Come  fair  or  foul,  or  rain  or  shine. 

The  joys  I  have  possessed,  in  spite  of  fate,  are  mine! 

Not  Heaven  itself  upon  the  past  has  power. 

But  what  has  been,  has  been, 

And  I  have  had  my  hour.  —  John  Dryden 

HAVE  — 

been  addicted  to  the  use  of  alcoholic 
stimulants  —  but  always  with  distin- 
guished and  worthy  companions; 

deserted  home  and  fireside,  ahvays  by 
request,  bought  and  dearly  paid  for; 

lied  —  to  myself —  for  recreation; 

cheated  —  the  undertaker; 

deceived  —  only  "yours  truly;" 

been  a  reveler  —  during  the  day,  always  too  busy  at 
night; 

been  a  gambler  —  on  the  green; 

a  rambler  —  on  the  nod; 

an  actor  —  on  the  job; 

a  hypocrite?  —  no,  by  God ! 

The  Shubert  theatres  and  Carnegie  Hbraries  are 
running  a  dead  heat  in  an  earnest  endeavor  to  perpetu- 
ate their  respective  names. 

What  subhme  egotism  and  how  humorous!     A  race 

between  a  Scotchman  and  a  Jew! 

207 


208  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

Now  if  only  a  New  England  Yankee  could  be  per- 
suaded to  enter  the  race  I  would  back  him  to  winl 
He  would  be  sure  to  erect  against  every  library  and 
theatre  a  soup  house  in  which  to  feed  the  inartistic 
hungry  —  and  he  would  get  the  money,  too. 

I  have  been  accused  by  many  of  my  reviewers  of 
being  a  casual  person,  with  no  reverence  for  my  art; 
a  trifler,  unrehable,  never  taking  myself  seriously.  To 
all  of  which  I  plead  guilty.  I  am  casual;  I  never  found 
it  necessary  to  plod.  I  have  Httle  reverence  for  the 
art  that  has  never  played  fair  with  me. 

I  had  to  play  in  London  to  discover  that  I  was  an  artist. 

A  trifler?  Yes  —  when  circumstances  compelled  me 
to  associate  with  pin-headed  critics. 

And  why  should  I  take  myself  seriously  when  nobody 
else  does? 

Mind  you,  when  I  say  I  plead  guilty  that  does  not 
signify  that  I  am.  Many  a  man  has  pleaded  guilty  to 
save  himself  from  the  hangman's  noose,  being  assured 
that  by  so  doing  he  will  receive  life  imprisonment.  If 
after  a  perusal  of  the  itinerary  that  I  have  written  in 
this  book  of  thirty-nine  years  before  the  pubhc,  in 
which  I  prove  that  I  have  run  the  gamut  from  an  end 
man  in  a  minstrel  show  to  Shy  lock  in  "The  Merchant  of 
Venice"  anyone  pronounces  me  guilty  I  am  wiHing  to 
abide  by  his  verdict. 

But  none  will  deny  that  I  have  worked  —  worked 
hard  —  and  enjoyed  it! 

The  three  saddest  events  in  my  life:  — 

The  burial  of  my  son. 

The  death  of  Eliza  Weathersby. 

Inspecting  Her  Majesty's  Theatre,  London,  with  Sir 
Henry  Irving  under  the  guidance  of  Beerbohm  Tree, 
then  the  lessee  and  manager! 


THE  CONFESSIONAL  209 

The  three  happiest  events :  — 
The  birth  of  my  son. 

The  presentation  of  a  loving  cup  to  me  by  the  Lambs 
Gub. 

My  first  performance  in  "The  Merchant  of  Venice.'* 

I  earnestly  beseech  my  readers,  particularly  the  pro- 
fessional critics  to  whom  I  pay  my  respects  later,  not 
to  misconstrue  my  motives  nor  consider  any  of  my 
references  as  personal.  They  are  simply  mild  protests 
at  the  methods  employed  of  featuring  my  professional 
and  private  lives,  particularly  the  latter. 

For  years  I  have  been  misrepresented,  at  times 
assailed,  brutally  assaulted.  I  am  not  defending  any 
real  act  that  has  ever  been  exploited;  my  principal 
objection  is  that  the  real  bad  in  me  has  never  been 
discovered!  Only  the  supposed  errors  and  little  idio- 
syncrasies are  all  they  have  endeavored  to  circulate. 

What  has  been  printed  is  puerile  and  worthy  only  of 
contempt,  I  am  really  capable  of  far  more  devilish 
accompHshments  than  those  with  which  they  have 
credited  me,  but  they  are  apparent  only  to  my  intimate 
friends  who  know  my  tremendous  capacity  for  wrong- 
doing! 

Conscious  of  my  alleged  proclivities  I  find  supreme 
consolation  in  knowing  a  dear  old  lady  living  in  Boston 
who  is  proof  against  the  accusations  made  against  me. 
Really  she  does  not  believe  them.  For  years  I  have 
been  the  recipient  twice  a  week  of  just  such  epistles  as 
this,  my  latest  love  letter :  — 

My  own  darling  Son: 

We  were  both  very  very  happy  to  get  your  dear  letter  this 
morning,  yet  sorry  to  hear  you  are  suffering  with  Sciatica  and 
Rheumatism,  I  do  hope  the  next  letter  we  get,  you  will  be  able  to 
walk  with  a  Cane;  very  thankful  you  are  not  having  but  very 
little  pain   in  the  back.      I   know  dear  that  you  dont  believe  in 


210  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

Christian  Science  yet  I  feel  it  is  helping  us  all  and  if  mother  is 
happy  in  that  belief,  I  know  you  wont  mind  me  writing  this  to 
you.  I've  prayed  night  and  day  your  Back  would  heal  and  your 
legs  would  grow  Stronger  every  day,  and  I  really  believe  my 
prayers  have  helped  you.  now  I  am  going  to  work  hard  night 
and  day  for  you  to  get  rid  of  Sciatica  and  Rheumatism,  and  tell 
me  in  your  next  letter  if  you  are  getting  all  over  your  illness,  and 
those  ^weak  nerves,  even  if  you  dont  believe  in  C.  S.  I've  just 
read  this  to  Dad,  he  says,  tell  Nat  his  mother  is  crazy.  Give 
Miss  Moreland  my  fond  love  and  all  good  wishes  for  her  kindness 
to  our  darling,  God  bless  her,  tell  her  I  often  think  of  her  and  hope 
I  may  see  her  Soon,  and  tell  her  how  very  grateful  I  am  and  thank 
her  over  and  over  again,  dont  know  what  you  would  have  done 
without  her,  through  all  your  terrible  Sufferings.  Dad  has  written 
you  all  the  news  which  isn't  very  much.  I  am  able  to  get  around 
and  waiting  to  get  Stronger  to  go  out.  Dad  joins  in  sending  our 
fond  love  with  kisses  God  bless  you  may  you  improve  every  day 
rapidly,  and  soon  be  ready  for  business  and  enjoy  perfect  health 
and  great  Success  in  your  new  part  —  with  all  the  happiness  there 
is,  is  ever  my  constant  and  Silent  prayers  always  for  our  Darling 
Son.     From  your  ever  loving  and  affectionate  mother 

C.  R.  Goodwin 


Mrs.  N.  C.  Goodwin,  Sr. 

A  dear  old  lady  living  in  Boston 


Chapter  L 
SAN   FRANCISCO 


FTER  touring  the  rural  towns  in  "In 
Mizzoura,"  I  opened  at  the  Baldwin 
Theatre,  San  Francisco,  June,  1896.  It 
was  then  that  I  discovered  that  San 
Francisco  stands  alone  among  the  cities 
of  the  world.  It  is  indeed  a  strange 
place.  The  coolest  time  of  the  year  and  by  far  the 
pleasantest  is  during  the  summer  months  and  yet  many 
of  the  inhabitants  go  East,  to  swelter  in  New  York  or 
at  the  hotter  sea  shores. 

I  know  of  no  more  delightful  city  in  America  during 
June,  July  and  August  than  San  Francisco.  But  every- 
one who  can  afford  it  packs  up  and  leaves!  This  of 
course  has  a  tendencv  to  affect  the  business  of  the 
theatres,  particularly  the  high-priced  ones. 

Dear  old  "Mizzoura!"  How  I  love  the  play  and  my 
character,  Jim  Radburn!  My  company,  organized  for 
Australia,  comprised  the  following  people:  —  William 
IngersoII,  Fraser  Coulter,  Clarence  Handysides,  Neil 
O'Brien,  H.  C.  Woodthorp,  Louis  Payne  (whom  I  pre- 
dict will  become  an  excellent  character  actor  some  day), 
Arthur  Hoops,  Blanche  Walsh,  Estelle  Mortimer,  Emily 
Melville  and  the  Misses  Usner  and  Browning.  The 
play  went  exceedingly  well  and  it  was  pronounced  a  big 
hit.  We  retired  from  our  labors  quite  contented  for  it 
was  really  a  meritorious  performance.  Barring  a  little 
nervousness  on  the  part  of  some  of  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  who  were  new  in  their  characters  we  gave  a 
splendid  ensemble. 

211 


212  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

By  the  way,  what  an  awful  thing  is  this  nervousness 
on  the  first  night!  The  older  the  artist  the  more  intense 
is  the  suffering.  You,  dear  public,  who  sit  in  silent 
judgment  upon  the  poor  player  on  his  initial  perform- 
ance, know  nothing  of  the  anguish  going  on  behind  the 
curtain.  You  do  not  see  the  blanched  faces  that  no 
grease-paint  yet  invented  can  conceal  nor  hear  the 
whispered  ejaculations  of  us  all,  fearful  of  our  finish 
and  sick  with  anxiety  for  our  brothers  and  sisters  in 
art  who  are  experiencing  the  same  torture!  Everything 
is  forgotten  save  the  result  of  those  awful  three  or  four 
hours.  If  you  only  knew  what  your  verdict  meant  I 
tell  you,  gentle  reader,  you  would  be  less  harsh  in  your 
judgment  of  us.  Think  of  the  many,  many  people  who 
are  interested  in  your  verdict,  the  many  whose  very  life 
and  sustenance  depend  upon  your  words.  Think  of  the 
amount  of  toil  involved  in  the  production  of  a  new  play. 

First  comes  the  evolution  of  a  plot.  And  this  is  but 
the  beginning  of  the  author's  work.  For  him  it  is  toil, 
toil,  toil.  Then  comes  his  fearful  ordeal  of  reading  his 
work  to  the  actor-manager  for  whom  it  was  written. 
Perhaps  his  future  depends  upon  it  —  his  destiny ! 

Next  comes  the  selection  of  the  cast  to  perform  the 
work.  I  regret  to  state  that  in  this  era  versatility  is 
lacking  because  of  the  absence  of  fine  stock  companies. 
We  actor-managers  are  forced  to  select  actors  and 
actresses  who  are  fitted  only  physically,  mentally  (and 
sometimes  socially)  for  the  respective  roles.  This  is 
shocking  when  one  considers  the  art  seriously.  How- 
ever, such  is  the  case,  and  we  "luxuries"  must  accept 
the  inevitable. 

After  the  cast  has  been  selected  comes  another  reading 
of  the  play  —  another  ordeal  for  the  author.  Then 
begin  the  rehearsals  which  last  for  many  weeks  and  the 
invention  of  stage  business,  a  technical  term  which 
means  pantomime,  facial  expression,  gesticulation,  every- 


SAN   FRANCISCO  213 

thing  pertaining  to  the  performance  save  the  sp>caking 
of  lines.  This  is  a  very  powerful,  if  not  the  factor  in 
the  success  of  a  play.  During  the  long  hours  of  re- 
hearsal one  must  be  on  the  alert  for  everything,  con- 
stantly changing  here  and  there,  putting  new  lines  in, 
cutting  others  out,  changing  business  (stage  managers  as 
a  rule  are  most  vacillating  and  unless  particularly  gifted 
prone  to  forget  to-day  what  they  invented  yesterday). 

At  the  finish  we  go  home  and  study!  It  is  generally 
midnight  before  the  actor  gets  this  opportunity!  He 
studies  his  hnes,  say,  until  four.  Then  he  retires  and 
sleeps  until  about  nine,  if  he  can!  He  must  be  in  the 
theatre  for  the  ten  o'clock  call  to  rehearse  what  he  has 
studied  at  home.  I  do  not  believe  in  studying  one's 
part  during  waits  at  a  rehearsal.  Your  lines  lose  their 
value  unless  you  understand  the  meaning  that  prompts 
the  speaking.  Hang  around  the  wings  during  your 
waits,  you  young  Thespian.  Watch  the  older  ones  and 
you  will  absorb  more  knowledge  of  your  profession  in 
one  week  than  in  a  season  of  studying  during  rehearsal. 

After  the  company  is  perfect  in  lines,  business,  etc., 
the  announcement  is  made  for  the  first  night's  perform- 
ance. I  have  not  mentioned  the  mechanical  portion  of 
the  enterprise  and  I  wish  that  I  could  skip  it,  but  I 
must  not.  I  am  against  all  realism  and  mechanism  in 
art,  but  as  some  of  our  worthy  English  cousins  have 
inaugurated  these  so-called  attributes  I  accept  them. 

This,  gentle  reader,  is  part  of  what  a  first  night  means. 
Think  of  what  we  all  go  through.  Think  of  the  many 
anxious  hearts  that  are  waiting  at  home  for  your  ver- 
dict —  the  mother,  brother,  sister,  sweetheart,  wife, 
friend.  Think  of  this,  you  men-about-town,  who,  when 
an  act  is  over,  confuse  it  with  your  bad  dinner.  Think 
of  it,  gentle  (?)  critic,  and  if  you  can't  speak  well  of  us 
at  least  be  courteous.  Think  of  it,  you,  who  have  no 
comprehension  beyond  the  roof  gardens  of  New  York! 


214  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

What  devastators  of  art!  Think  of  it,  you,  who  con- 
sider the  theatre  a  place  for  mere  diversion!  Think  of 
it,  you,  who  never  divorce  the  actor  from  his  character! 
Be  kind  and  patient.  So  much  depends  upon  you. 
Remember  we  are  doing  our  best.  Don't  shatter  our 
little  houses  or  our  hopes!    To  do  so  is  so  easy! 

But  we  were  speaking  of  San  Francisco! 

From  the  opening  performance  of  "Mizzoura"  the 
manager  of  the  theatre,  Mr.  Bauvier,  was  delighted. 
He  told  my  representative  that  it  was  a  great  success 
and  said,  **Why,  by  Thursday  Goodwin  won't  be  able 
to  get  them  in!" 

He  was  quite  right  —  I  wasn't!  Thursday  night  a 
tranquil  mob  avoided  the  Baldwin  Theatre.  Rows  of 
red  plush  chairs  yawned  eloquently.  Perhaps  yours 
truly  was  the  cause  of  this.  Something  was  the  cause. 
Maybe  the  transition  from  broadcloth  to  homespun 
shocked  the  San  Francisco  pubhc!  It  could  not  have 
been  the  play. 

Ruskin  classified  paintings  into  three  orders  and  ranks 
least  of  all  those  which  represent  the  passions  and  events 
of  ordinary  Hfe.  Perhaps  the  enlightened  public  of  San 
Francisco  agrees  with  Ruskin.  I  don't.  I  want  the 
mirror  held  up  to  Nature  even  though  it  is  bespattered 
with  a  little  wholesome  mud. 

Jim  Radburn  is  a  little  man  with  red  hair.  He  is 
dramatic,  not  theatrical.  But  San  Francisco  asked, 
"How  can  a  man  be  a  hero  and  have  red  hair?" 

The  public  will  never  divorce  the  individual  from  the 
character  portrayed.  It  has  been  my  great  battle  for 
years  to  endeavor  to  persuade  the  public  to  reahze  that 
it  must  disassociate  the  two.  Banish  the  man  and 
woman  artist  you  meet  in  every  day  life  and  absorb  the 
characters  of  the  parts  which  they  are  portraying. 
Then  we  shall  stand  side  by  side  in  art  with  any  coun- 


SAN  FRANCISCO  215 

try.  I  am  very  glad  to  say  that  I  see  development 
every  day  in  the  right  direction,  particularly  in  my  own 
little  efforts.  If  I  succeed  in  piercing  the  tissue  that 
separates  laughter  from  tears  who  is  so  narrow  as  to 
grudge  me  the  modest  rank  I  hope  to  attain  in  the 
realms  of  dramatic  art? 

This  talk  of  mediocre  business  in  San  Francisco  recalls 
a  story  told  of  the  late  William  Manning,  one  of  the 
cleverest  of  all  Ethiopian  comedians.  He  had  arrived 
at  the  most  critical  period  in  his  career,  poor  and  in  ill 
health.  But  he  procured  a  backer  and  took  out  a 
company  of  minstrels.  The  trip  proved  disastrous  and 
they  were  about  to  close.  But  Manning  bore  his  losses 
with  great  fortitude  and  humorous  philosophy. 

One  morning,  after  a  wretched  house  the  previous 
evening,  he  chanced  to  run  across  a  professional  rival  of 
his,  but  socially  a  great  friend,  Billy  Emerson.  They 
exchanged  salutations.  Emerson  at  this  time  was  at 
the  zenith  of  his  fame  and  quite  wealthy.  It  took  but  a 
few  moments  for  the  epigrammatic  Manning  to  acquaint 
the  successful  African  Impresario,  Emerson,  of  his 
financial  condition.  To  quote  a  Rialto  expression,  **he 
touched  and  fetched!"  —  meaning,  he  soHcited  financial 
aid  and  his  request  was  granted. 

As  Manning  stalked  away,  his  face  wreathed  in  smiles, 
which  actually  seemed  to  reflect  their  rays  on  the  tall 
silk  hat  which  always  adorned  the  minstrel  irrespective 
of  his  bank  account,  Emerson  called  after  him,  "Say, 
by  the  way.  Bill,  where  do  you  play  to-night?"  Man- 
ning, after  feeling  in  his  vest  pocket  to  reassure  himself 
that  Emerson  had  really  given  him  $500,  replied: 

**Now  we  play  Albany.  If  I  had  not  met  you  we 
should  have  spent  the  summer  here!"  "We  play  there 
two  nights  after  you,"  said  Emerson.  "Will  you  an- 
nounce us  to  the  public  from  the  stage?"  "Yes,  I  will 
—  if  he  stays,"  replied  Manning. 


Chapter  LI 

ANTONY  (?)   AND  CLEOPATRA 

AN  FRANCISCO  visitors  must  be  very- 
careful  never  by  any  chance  to  abbre- 
viate and  call  the  city  'Frisco.  The 
inhabitants  object  most  strenuously  if 
you  take  such  a  hberty. 

We  were  treated  royally  in  a  social 
way  in  San  Francisco.  Our  performance  never  received 
such  praise,  press  and  public  being  ahke  most  gracious. 
We  were  feted,  banqueted,  ridden,  driven,  etc.  In  fact, 
those  who  knew  of  our  presence  made  ample  amends 
for  those  who  knew  not  where  we  were!  That  small 
part  of  the  public  which  came  to  see  us  seemed  aware 
of  our  loneliness,  and  endeavored  to  lighten  our  heavy 
hearts  by  hearty  manifestations  of  approval! 

I  had  the  pleasure  of  being  the  honored  guest  at  a 
supper  given  to  me  by  that  group  of  variously  gifted 
men  who  have  banded  together  and  call  themselves  the 
Bohemian  Club.  What  a  royal  set!  How  clever!  One 
must  ever  be  ready  with  a  quick  reply  or  chaos  will 
surely  follow.  Mr.  Peter  Robinson  of  "  The  Chronicle  " 
was  the  chairman  on  this  occasion  and  with  the  assist- 
ance of  sixty  or  seventy  gentlemen  did  much  toward 
alleviating  the  sorrow  I  naturally  felt  at  leaving  my 
country  and  my  friends  for  the  wilds  of  Australia. 

They  presented  me  with  a  water-colored  caricature  of 
myself  with  the  body  of  a  Iamb  (the  Iamb  symbohzing 
the  Lambs  Chib).  I  was  being  entertained  by  a  huge 
owl  (the  symbol  of  the  Bohemian  Club).     It  was  a  very 

quaint  and  most  artistic  picture  and  I  prize  it  highly. 

216 


A* 


^ 


^'7/  '~^' 


How  MUCH  A  Lamb  I  was  I  didn't  know  —  Then! 


ANTONY  (?)   AND  CLEOPATRA  217 

Mr.  Tim  Frawley,  once  a  member  of  my  company 
and  at  that  time  a  most  successful  manager,  also  was 
most  kind  and  generous  to  me.  He  gave  me  a  supper 
at  the  same  club  the  Tuesday  previous  to  my  sailing. 
The  table  was  magnificently  arranged.  Huge  banks  of 
sweet  peas  adorned  the  center  of  the  table.  Inter- 
mingled were  variously  colored  carnations  and  Cali- 
fornia wild  flowers.  Toy  balloons  were  suspended. 
They  were  hung  with  red  tape  to  which  were  attached 
little  American  flags,  the  whole  held  in  place  on  the  table 
by  a  delicate  bronze  anchor  suggesting  hope  (I  suppose). 
These  decorations  shown  in  a  soft  red  light  made  a 
picture  as  perfect  as  it  was  harmonious. 

At  Mr.  Frawley 's  left  sat  the  stately,  majestic,  Juno- 
like Maxine  Elliott,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  women 
whom  I  had  ever  seen,  her  raven  black  hair  and  eyes 
in  delightful  contrast  to  the  red  hues  that  formed  an 
aureole,  as  it  were,  above  her  head.  There  she  sat, 
totally  unconscious  of  the  appetites  she  was  destroying, 
absorbing  the  delicate  little  compliments  paid  her  by 
that  prince  of  good  fellows,  John  Drew. 

How  I  chafed  at  the  etiquette  which  prohibited  my 
being  at  her  side! 

Next  to  her  sat  the  tranquil  Herbert  Kelcey  and  the 
dainty  piece  of  bisque,  Effie  Shannon.  Down  the  line 
sat  the  radiant  and  sunny  Gladys  Wallis,  near  her  the 
gracious  and  emotional  Blanche  Bates,  farther  down  the 
sweet  and  winsome  Gertrude  Elliott.  It  was  a  bevy^  of 
beauty  one  rarely  sees. 

At  my  right  sat  one  of  the  brightest  women  I  have 
ever  met  and  as  beautiful  as  she  is  talented  (a  rare 
combination).  She  had  first  come  to  my  attention  a  few 
weeks  previous  while  I  was  on  my  way  to  San  Francisco, 
the  other  members  of  my  company  who  had  been  en- 
gaged by  my  manager,  Mr.  George  B.  McCIellan, 
having    preceded    me.     My    strenuous    tour    with    the 


2i8  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

"All  Rivals"  cast  had  been  too  much  for  me.  I  think 
I  was  suffering  from  fatty  degeneration  of  the  art! 
In  any  event  I  found  my  only  amusement  in  the  local 
daihes  along  the  hne  and  when  the  Denver  "  Post "  came 
aboard  the  train  I  fairly  devoured  it. 

On  the  page  devoted  to  the  theatres  I  was  amazed 
to  find  a  roast  of  Maxine  Elliott  (whom  I  had  met 
casually  three  years  before).  It  was  written  in  a  most 
artistic  manner  in  excellent  English.  It  was  unkind  and 
cruel  —  but  clever.  Altogether  it  was  one  of  the  most 
scathing  denunciations  I  ever  saw  in  print.  It  was 
signed  Alice  Rix. 

She  was  my  dinner  companion.  I  noticed  that  she 
and  Maxine  exchanged  more  than  one  sharp  glance  but 
neither  one  showed  any  outward  signs  of  having  any- 
thing more  in  common  than  superficial  things.  Once 
or  twice  Maxine  even  smiled  in  her  direction  1  Clever 
Maxine,  tactful  even  in  her  respectable  poverty! 

Jimmie  Swinnerton,  the  cartoonist,  presented  me  with 
a  quaint  drawing  of  a  kangaroo  on  its  hind  legs,  beaming 
with  laughter  and  bidding  me  ''Welcome  to  Austraha." 
I  value  this  picture  very  highly  —  and  the  autographs 
which  were  written  on  it  that  night. 

Another  newspaper  man,  Ashton  Stevens,  afforded  us 
a  treat  in  the  shape  of  producing  music  out  of  a  banjo! 
The  way  he  played  classical  music  on  that  instrument 
was  marvelous.  This  came  at  the  tail  end  of  the  even- 
ing and  much  to  my  sorrow  the  party  broke  up  then 
and  there  —  at  3  a.  m. 

Thursday,  June  25,  1896,  marked  our  start  for 
Australia  on  the  good  ship  Alameda,  Captain  Van 
Otterendorf  commanding.  At  the  pier  to  bid  us  bon 
voyage  were  all  those  who  had  been  at  the  supper  on 
Tuesday,  all  of  the  Frawley  company,  several  personal 
friends  and  many  of  my  professional  brothers  and 
sisters  who  were  employed  at  the  various  theatres  (or 


ANTONY  (?)  AND  CLEOPATRA  219 

were  willing  to  be!).  They  had  prepared  a  surprise 
which  quite  unnerved  me.  They  all  bade  me  goodby 
and  said  all  manner  of  nice  things.  As  one  by  one  they 
grasped  my  hand  and  said  farewell  a  great  lump  jumped 
up  into  my  throat  and  it  would  have  taken  but  a  slight 
suggestion  or  urging  on  anybody's  part  for  me  to  have 
followed  them  all  back  down  the  gang-plank!  I  bit 
my  lips  to  keep  back  the  tears. 

For  the  first  time  I  realized  what  a  bold  responsi- 
bility I  had  assumed  in  taking  a  company  of  players 
ten  thousand  miles  away  from  home!  Besides,  I  was 
leaving  all  that  was  near  and  dear  to  me  behind. 
"Would  we  ever  meet  again?"  I  wondered.  But  this 
was  no  time  for  pessimism.  So  I  parted  from  my  dear 
friends  and  determined  to  accept  whatever  fate  had  in 
store  for  me. 

My  depression  was  soon  turned  to  great  Joy.  The 
boys  had  chartered  a  tug,  quietly  trailed  behind  us  and 
after  we  had  gone  out  into  the  bay  for  about  half  a 
mile  they  suddenly  appeared  on  the  port  side  only  a 
few  feet  from  us.  We  could  easily  talk  to  one  another 
from  our  respective  decks.  On  the  side  of  the  tug 
was  suddenly  hung  a  huge  canvas  on  which  were 
painted  in  large,  black  letters  the  words,  **good  luck 
TO  nat!" 

It  made  me  feel  proud  and  happy,  I  can  tell  you! 

They  cheered  and  chattered  and  we  followed  suit. 
The  little  craft  kept  up  with  us  until  the  sea  and  wind 
prohibited  their  going  further.  Then,  with  a  pipe  from 
the  little  whistle  of  the  tug,  to  which  the  captain  of  the 
Alameda  responded,  she  turned  her  bow  towards  the 
city  as  we  sped  silently  and  swiftly  toward  the  An- 
tipodes. 

My  leading  lady  at  this  time  was  Miss  Blanche 
Vv^alsh  who  was  engaged  only  for  the  Australian  tour. 
While  contemplating  the  fair  Maxine  the  evening  of  the 


220  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

banquet  it  suddenly  struck  me  what  a  fine  leading 
woman  she  would  be  for  my  organization!  Everybody 
told  me  she  was  an  extremely  poor  actress,  but  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  find  out  for  myself. 

As  I  looked  at  her  I  thought  that  surely  a  woman  of 
so  much  charm  and  beauty  who  spoke  English  so  purely 
could  be  taught. 

That  evening  I  went  home  and  told  my  business 
manager,  McCIellan,  of  my  determination. 

"Why,  you're  crazy!"  he  shouted.  "She's  beautiful 
to  look  at,  but  she  can't  act;  she  hasn't  the  emotion  of 
an  oyster!  Blanche  Bates  is  playing  rings  around  her 
in  Frawley's  company!  Get  Bates  if  you  can,  but  pass 
up  Elliott!  Read  what  the  San  Francisco  papers  say 
about  her!  Go  to  sleep  and  in  the  morning  I'll  try  to 
engage  Blanche  Bates  for  you!" 

I  only  wish  I  had  followed  his  advice,  but  Fate  was 
peeping  over  my  ramparts!  And  he  caused  me  to  pass 
a  very  restless  night! 

Dressing  in  my  best  regalia  the  next  morning  I  called 
upon  Miss  Elliott  at  the  Baldwin  Hotel.  In  a  few 
moments  I  was  ushered  into  her  presence  and  quickly 
told  her  of  my  purpose.  It  appeared  to  appeal  to  her, 
but  there  were  several  barriers  in  the  way.  She  was 
about  to  sign  with  Harry  Miner  and  Joseph  Brooks  for 
the  following  season.  I  soon  learned  that  that  part  of 
it  could  be  easily  arranged  as  no  documents  were  signed 
nor  material  secured.  Her  little  sister  Gertrude  must 
also  be  looked  after.  I  said  I  would  engage  her  whole 
family  if  she  so  desired. 

As  I  look  back  to  that  little  impromptu  business  talk 
I  can  see  the  demure,  simple,  intelligent  Gertrude 
Elliott,  whose  fawn-like,  penetrating  eyes  and  shell-like 
ears  drank  in  every  word  of  our  conversation.  I  recall 
the  awe  with  which  she  reviewed  every  act  and  speech 
of  her  beautiful  sister! 


^^^^^^^^^^ 


An  Australian  Greeting  Can't  Touch  its  Farewell! 


ANTONY  (?)  AND  CLEOPATRA         '        221 

Best  of  all  I  can  realize,  irrespective  of  all  the  sorrow 
which  that  interview  cost  me  in  after  years,  that  it  was 
the  cause  of  presenting  to  the  American  and  English 
public  one  of  the  sweetest  actresses  that  the  world  has 
ever  known  and  the  bringing  into  the  world  three  of 
the  most  beautiful  children  with  which  a  mother  was 
ever  blessed!  Had  it  not  been  for  that  interview  Ger- 
trude would  never  have  met  Forbes-Robertson,  whose 
marriage  to  Gertrude  Elliott  has  proven  a  blessing  to 
both  and  caused  the  sun  to  shine  resplendently  when 
focused  upon  those  two  loving  hearts. 

Fate  plays  pranks  with  us  all  and  shifts  about  to  suit 
its  pleasure.  Why  did  he  concentrate  his  force  upon 
one  sister  at  that  interview  and  demand  obedience? 

There  were  two  prizes  in  that  room  for  me  to  select. 
As  usual  I  drew  the  blank! 

It  took  me  but  a  short  time  to  consummate  my 
arrangements  and  at  three  o'clock  I  returned  with  the 
contracts.  One  was  for  $150  and  one  for  $75  a  week. 
Thus  Maxine  and  Gertrude  Elliott  were  engaged  for 
three  years  as  members  of  my  organization. 

I  had  seen  neither  on  the  stage.  I  simply  took  a 
chance,  despite  all  the  uncomplimentary  expressions  I 
had  heard  regarding  their  want  of  abilities,  especially 
Maxine's.  That  night  I  saw  them  act  and  I  never  was 
more  surprised  in  my  life.  I  saw  and  heard  two  women 
with  so  much  culture  that  they  were  lost  in  their  en- 
vironment. No  attention  was  paid  to  their  superb 
diction  nor  to  the  refmement  of  their  manner.  All  of  it 
was  lost  upon  the  insular,  lov.-browed  audience  to  which 
they  were  playing  and  of  course  it  was  overlooked  by 
the  management! 

I  came  home  in  ecstacy  and  told  McCIellan  that  I 
had  found  a  gold  mine.  When  I  told  him  of  part  of 
what  I  had  accomplished  he  sat  bolt  upright  in  bed  and 
upbraided  me  unmercifully,  ending  with,   **You 


222  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

fool!  You're  going  away  from  one  woman  only  to  fall 
in  love  with  another!  You  haven't  a  chance,  though, 
for  she  and  Frank  Worthing  are  head  over  heels  in  love 
with  each  other!" 

"I  don't  give  a  d — n,"  I  rephed  cheerfully.  "I  will 
engage  him  too  if  he'll  come  to  Australia!  He's  a  fine 
actor!" 

"What?"  yelled  Mac.  "You  haven't  engaged  her 
for  Australia,  have  you?" 

"Sure,  Mike,"  I  rephed. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I  always  thought  you  were  crazy; 
now  I  know  it!  I'll  bet  you  a  thousand  dollars  that 
neither  of  them  will  come!" 

"You're  on,"  I  said.  "That  is,  I'll  bet  you  one  will 
come.     Gertrude  gave  me  her  word." 

"Oh  go  have  your  head  examined,"  growled  Mac  as 
he  covered  his  face  and  rolled  over  into  slumberland, 
leaving  me  alone. 

And  all  night  long  Fate  paced  up  and  down  outside 
my  door  in  the  Palace  Hotel  plotting  my  future! 

Had  I  not  made  those  two  engagements  the  pages  of 
history  would  have  been  greatly  changed.  Had  the 
little  Kentucky  family  held  aloof  there  would  have 
been  no  Maxine  Elliott  Theatre  in  New  York;  Forbes- 
Robertson  would  never  have  met  the  sweet  Gertrude; 
the  latter  would  never  have  been  launched  as  a  star; 
Maxine  would  not  now  be  a  retired  actress,  rich  and 
famous;  Clyde  Fitch's  career  would  have  been  post- 
poned and  the  avenues  of  my  poor  life  would  have  been 
broader  and  less  clogged  with  weeds. 


Chapter  LI  I 
HONOLULU  AND  SAMOA 


FTER  my  friends  had  left  me  I  gave  one 
last  longing  look  at  the  Cliff  House,  the 
f  scene  of  many  happy  hours,  and  wended 
Hi  my  way  to  the  stateroom  which  I  was 
to  occupy  for  the  next  four  weeks.  I 
loathe  ocean  travel  and  did  not  look 
forward  to  my  trip  with  much  pleasure.  The  company 
came  to  me  after  a  bit  and  we  passed  the  afternoon 
planning  what  we  would  do  to  while  away  the  hours  of 
the  voyage. 

Louis  Payne  had  ingratiated  himself  with  a  confiding 
young  lady  who  was  on  her  way  to  Honolulu  to  join  her 
fiancee.  Before  6  p.  m.  it  looked  bad  for  the  waiting-to- 
be-bridegroom.  Payne  was  reading  her  sonnets  which 
evidently  appealed  to  her.  Neil  O'Brien,  dear  old  Neil, 
wrote  a  poem  suggestive  of  the  flirtation.  Aside  from 
this  diversion  the  first  few  days  were  a  trifle  monotonous 
after  the  strenuous  events  of  the  preceding  five  weeks. 
But  then  came  a  splendid  contrast. 

As  we  entered  Honolulu  harbor  a  new  colored  water 
seemed  to  greet  us.  A  softer  sky  than  I  had  ever  seen 
hung  over  the  Httle  picturesque  city.  The  sea  resembled 
a  huge  flat  sapphire.  To  the  right  was  a  range  of  de- 
vastated mountains,  the  remnants  of  pre-historic  days. 
The  httle  city  is  a  veritable  paradise  and  as  one  rides 
into  the  country  it  seems  to  grow  more  and  more 
beautiful. 

We   rode   seven    miles   to   the   summit   of  Mt.    Pah 

(meaning  precipice).     We  could  see  about  and  down  for 

223 


224  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

miles.  It  was  a  most  uncanny  sight.  The  Brocken 
scene  in  Faust  and  Yellowstone  Park  pale  into  insignifi- 
cance by  comparison.  Relics  of  volcanoes,  thousands 
and  thousands  of  years  old,  chffs,  mountains  of  rocks, 
precipices  and  barren  tracts  of  land  meet  you  on  every 
side.  This  spot  is  quite  interesting  in  a  historical  way. 
For  here  it  was  that  King  Kamehameha  came  over  from 
Oaui  and  conquered  the  Hawaiians.  Then  he  depopu- 
lated the  island. 

He  landed  at  the  entrance  to  the  harbor  and  drove 
the  natives  on  and  on  until  they  reached  Mt.  Pali. 
Rather  than  surrender  or  through  fear  they  jumped 
into  the  horrible  abyss. 

He  must  have  been  some  fighter. 

We  remained  at  Honolulu  about  sixteen  hours,  rode 
all  about  the  town  and  dined  at  the  Sans  Souci,  a 
dehghtful  httle  place  about  four  miles  out.  Before 
dining  we  enjoyed  a  bath  in  the  sea.  The  temperature 
of  the  water  ranges  all  the  year  round  from  seventy- 
five  to  eighty.  We  also  enjoyed  shooting  the  rapids,  a 
most  fascinating  sport.  You  wade  and  swim  out  against 
the  tide  for  five  hundred  yards.  A  stahvart  native 
pushes  your  tiny  canoe  in  front  of  him.  When  you 
arrive  at  a  given  point  you  get  into  the  canoe,  head 
toward  the  shore  and  the  terrific  current  hurls  you  back 
to  the  beach.  It  is  exciting.  Very  often  you  are 
pitched  ii;ito  the  sea  but  you  don't  mind  as  the  water 
is  shallow  and  you  are  in  your  bathing  suit. 

When  I  look  back  on  Honolulu  after  all  these  years  I 
know  it  is  one  of  the  most  glorious  spots  on  earth; 
but  had  I  penned  these  lines  on  the  ground  I'm  afraid 
I'd  have  been  less  compHmentary.  Not  that  the  harbor 
and  landscape  were  not  wondrous  in  their  beauty  in 
every  direction  as  far  as  one  could  see,  but  —  before  we 
ever  reached  our  hotel  we  encountered  myriads  of 
mosquitoes,  all  of  which  pests  seemed  to  be  bent  on  the 


HONOLULU  AND  SAMOA  225 

destruction  of  my  left  eye!     In  no  time  it  was  swollen 
tight  shut. 

A  native  doctor  attended  me,  pouring  something 
suggesting  vitriol  —  into  the  wrong  eye! 

"Great  Scott!"  I  yelled.  ''There  goes  my  good  eye. 
Why  didn't  you  put  it  in  the  bad  eye?  You  know  that's 
gone  for  good  anyway." 

The  Hawaiian  physician  only  smiled,  charged  me  ten 
dollars  and  went  his  way  after  assuring  me  that  I'd  be 
'*all  right  in  no  time."  Before  I  did  recover  Arthur 
Hoops  came  along.  "Governor,"  said  he,  "why  don't 
you  write  about  this  beautiful  place  in  your  new  book?" 

"How  can  I  write  about  a  place  when  I  can't  see?" 
I  queried  indignantly. 

It's  great  to  leave  Honolulu.  The  whole  city  bids 
you  goodby.  We  were  covered  with  flowers  when  we 
reached  the  deck  of  our  ship  the  next  day  and  as  we 
backed  out  of  the  dock  their  band  played  Aloha,  their 
goodby  song. 

Seven  days  later,  July  10,  to  be  exact,  land  appeared 
on  the  horizon  which  the  skipper  informed  us  was 
Apia,  Samoa.  It  was  about  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon when  I  was  awakened  from  my  slumbers  to  catch 
a  view  of  the  coveted  land.  My  attention  was  divided 
contemplating  the  horizon  and  looking  back  at  the  wake 
of  the  steamer.  As  we  approached  the  entrance  to  the 
harbor  we  were  reminded  very  much  of  Honolulu. 
Samoa  however,  is  protected  on  each  side  by  two 
peninsulas  projecting  far  out  into  the  sea. 

As  one  approaches  land  one  notices  the  ground  is 
covered  with  much  vegetation.  Cocoanut  trees  are  in 
abundance.  Tiny  specks  appear  as  one  draws  nearer. 
These  soon  develop  into  delightful  little  huts  and 
homes  of  modern  architecture,  occupied  by  consuls 
and  men  with  diplomatic  positions.  This  harbor  has  a 
history. 


226  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

Once  it  was  the  scene  of  a  tremendous  hurricane  which 
caught  several  ships  at  anchor  in  the  bay  and  blew 
them  on  the  rocks.  One  Enghsh  ship  perished  with  all 
on  board  as  she  vainly  endeavored  to  turn  her  bow 
towards  the  storm.  The  crew  went  down  to  Davy 
Jones's  locker  with  the  ship's  band  playing  Rule,  Britan- 
nia! On  the  rocks  we  saw  a  monument  to  the  lost 
of  this  catastrophe  in  the  shape  of  a  wrecked  German 
man-of-war. 

As  we  approached  the  shore  swarms  of  natives  came 
rowing  out  to  meet  us.  What  splendid  specimens  of 
manhood  they  were!  Perfectly  formed  they  were  ap- 
parently quite  unconscious  of  their  power  and  as  gentle 
as  they  were  strong.  I  noticed  one  strapping  fellow 
standing  in  the  bow  of  his  boat  beckoning  me  to  Join 
him.  As  the  sun  shone  upon  his  copper  colored  skin 
he  seemed  a  monarch  even  in  his  semi-nudity  and  in 
barbaric  splendor  he  suggested  Othello.  With  the  aid 
of  two  assistants  Othello  soon  landed  us  on  the  sands 
of  sunny  Samoa.  Here  we  were  at  once  surrounded  by 
a  swarm  of  natives  who  persuaded  us  to  purchase  fans, 
beads,  rings,  wooden  canoes,  corals,  shells  and  a  score  of 
other  things  in  which  the  island  abounds.  These  arti- 
cles are  secured  with  the  least  possible  labor  for  the 
true  Samoan  considers  it  infra  dig  to  labor  long  and  is 
firmly  convinced  that  it  is  a  very  poor  world  that  won't 
support  one  race  of  gentlemen. 

I  am  sorry  to  say  the  women  do  not  appeal  to  one 
as  much  as  the  men.  They  are  small  of  stature  and 
run  to  fat.  They  take  but  little  time  in  arranging  their 
toilet  for  the  day  and  seldom  keep  their  men  friends 
waiting  when  asked  to  a  party  or  a  ball,  their  raiment 
consisting  mostly  of  beads! 

We  spent  but  httle  time  among  the  natives  as  we  were 
anxious  to  visit  the  homo  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 
We  finally  succeeded  in  procuring  a  conveyance,  a  small 


HONOLULU  AND  SAMOA  227 

cart  and  pony,  and  were  soon  on  our  way  to  his  home. 
After  two  miles  the  road  turned  into  a  smaller  one  and 
there  a  sign  board,  cleanly  white-washed,  told  us  in  the 
Samoan  tongue  that  we  were  nearing  the  abode  of  the 
great  romancer.  The  sign,  translated,  told  all  travellers 
that  the  road  was  built  by  the  Samoans  as  a  monument 
to  their  beloved  friend.  At  the  end  of  the  road  we 
came  upon  a  locked  gate.  We  vaulted  over  and  in  a 
few  minutes  we  came  upon  a  house,  flat,  but  of  rather 
huge  dimensions. 

As  we  approached  the  veranda  a  lady,  of  small 
stature,  dressed  in  a  Mother  Hubbard,  in  bare  feet, 
came  graciously  forward  to  meet  us.  In  a  moment  I 
recognized  her.  Her  face  was  keen  and  intelligent  and 
once  miust  have  been  beautiful.  She  was  pale,  thought- 
ful, dignified  and  sad.  Hers  was  the  right  kind  of 
face!  It  stamped  her  as  the  wife  of  the  man  who  has 
made  the  world  marvel  at  his  wondrous  imagination. 
We  made  ourselves  known  and  were  received  most 
hospitably.     She  seemed  glad  to  welcome  Anglo-Saxons. 

I  told  her  the  news  of  McKinley's  nomination  and 
the  sad  tidings  of  the  death  of  Kate  Field,  her  life-long 
friend. 

She  prepared  a  luncheon  for  us  (which  did  not  quite 
suit  my  fancy,  but  I  was  too  polite  to  refuse  it).  It 
was  some  kind  of  a  mushy  mixture,  requiring  the  use  of 
a  mortar  and  pestle,  which  the  natives  manipulate 
quite  skillfully.     It  consisted  of  several  ingredients,  one 

of  which  I  thought  was  never  mind!     That  was 

soon  over,  thank  the  Lord,  and  Mrs.  Stevenson  showed 
us  the  house.  We  reveled  in  R.  L.'s  study  which  was 
filled  with  many  original  prints,  books,  emblems  and 
gifts  of  every  description. 

In  this  room  he  passed  away  one  afternoon  while 
giving  a  reception  to  the  natives  who  loved  him  dearly. 
While  bestowing  his  hospitality  he  complained  of  a  pain 


228  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

in  his  side  and,  excusing  himself  to  his  guests,  started 
for  his  chamber.  His  wife,  noticing  his  deathly  pallor, 
rushed  to  his  assistance.  (Mrs.  Stevenson  was  explicit 
in  her  description.)  "Give  them  my  compliments,"  he 
said  to  her  as  she  half  carried  him  toward  his  bedroom. 
"Tell  them  I'm  a  trifle  ill,  but  we  will  all  be  together 
a  week  from  to-night."  And  he  waved  an  adieu  and 
tried  to  hide  the  pain  that  racked  his  body.  "It's 
nothing,"  he  kept  repeating  to  his  wife,  "it  will  soon 
pass  away."  But  just  as  he  entered  his  bedroom  words 
failed  him;  he  could  only  smile,  grasp  her  hand  and 
sink  back  onto  the  bed. 

Thus  passed  the  soul  of  one  of  the  dearest  men  and 
one  of  the  most  brilliant.  He  suff^ered  but  he  uttered 
no  complaint.  He  had  a  kindly  word  even  for  savages. 
Now  his  body  hes  at  the  top  of  a  huge  mountain  and 
if  you  look  steadily  you  can  almost  outline  the  form  as 
if  it  were  lying  on  some  great  catafalque.  It  is  most 
diflicult  of  access;  it  took  the  natives  two  days  and 
nights  to  place  him  on  his  bed  of  flowers.  But  to  this 
day  many  of  the  sturdier  ones  make  the  toilsome  climb 
and  pay  homage  to  the  man  they  cafl  their  "dear 
master."  f? 

There  alone  he  hes,  as  far  as  possible  away  from 
this  plaything  cafled  earth.  Huge  trees  stand  like 
silent  sentinels  sheltering  him  from  wind  and  rain. 
His  companions  are  the  httle  birds  who  sing  his  praises 
through  ah  the  hours  of  the  day  and  night.  Above  the 
moon  and  stars  dance  with  joy  and  I  can  fairly  hear 
the  jolly  old  moon  say,  "Bobby,  we've  got  you  at  last!" 
And  each  star  is  whispering  as  it  twinkles  along,  "Bobby 
has  come,  Bobby  has  come!" 

Rest  on,  Robert,  until  eternity  has  grown  gray.  If 
we  worshipped  you  down  here,  what  must  they  be  doing 
for  you  now?  The  world  is  jealous.  We  have  only 
your  memory.     They  have  your  souL 


HONOLULU  AND  SAMOA  229 

Tears  streamed  down  my  face  as  I  bade  goodby  to 
Mrs.  Stevenson.  It  was  all  very  sad,  but  I  wouldn't 
have  missed  it  for  the  crown  the  Bourbons  lost. 

By  midnight  we  were  back  on  board  and  off  to  Auck- 
land. We  arrived  seven  days  later  after  a  most  perilous 
journey.  I  have  never  seen  such  storms  as  we  en- 
countered. The  Pacific  can  pick  up  more  trouble  than 
two  Atlantic  oceans.  During  the  entire  seven  days  we 
were  thrown  from  one  side  of  the  ship  to  the  other 
with  our  trunks,  hat  boxes  and  vahses.  We  finally  had 
to  tie  them  down.  It  took  two  "ordinary"  seamen  to 
open  a  handbag! 

Captain  Van  Otterendorf,  who  apparently  had  taken 
a  fancy  to  me,  one  day  after  we  were  compelled  to 
heave  to  and  lie  in  the  trough  of  the  sea,  called  me  to 
his  chart  room. 

"My  tear  Goodvin,"  he  said,  "ve  are  in  a  most 
precarious  position.  Ve  haf  no  more  coal  in  de  bunkers 
and  ve  are  quietly  drifting  on  to  de  rocks  vich  are  only 
about  two  hundred  miles  to  de  Vest.  I  vish  ve  were 
farder  avay  from  de  land."  I  said,  "I  don't."  He 
said,  "Veil,  I  am  now  burning  de  five  stock  for  fuel 
and  we  vill  put  out  de  fires  in  about  an  hour  and  hoist 
de  mainsail."  "Why  didn't  you  do  this  two  days  ago 
and  save  the  coal?"  I  asked.  "I  didn't  know^  how  much 
ve  started  away  from  Samoa  vith  until  the  purser  yust 
told  me,"  he  rephed.  I  looked  at  him.  "What  do  you 
tell  me  all  this  for?  Don't  you  think  I  am  frightened 
enough  without  this  information?"  He  rephed,  "Veil, 
I  like  you.  No  one  yet  knows  vat  vill  take  place  on 
de  ocean  and  ve  can  only  hope  for  de  best." 

He  pulled  out  a  huge  bottle  of  Scotch  w^hiskey  from 
somewhere  and  I  drank  a  goblet  and  in  about  an  hour 
I  didn't  care  whether  the  ship  sank  or  not.  Luckily  the 
next  day  the  storm  abated.  We  arrived  at  harbor  of 
Sydney. 


Chapter  LI  1 1 
PUBLICITY  —  ITS   RESULTS 


EFORE  arranging  my  Australian  tour 
(while  I  was  engaged  to  the  Kentucky 
lady)  I  had  planned  to  obtain  a  divorce 
in  California  by  an  understanding  with 
the  second  Mrs.  Goodwin  from  whom  I 
was  then  legally  separated.  She  gave 
her  consent  for  a  cash  payment  of  twenty  thousand 
dollars.     (Wives  came  high  even  in  those  days!) 

When  I  decided  to  call  off  the  engagement  with  the 
Kentucky  lady  the  divorce  was  nearly  consummated 
and  on  my  arrival  at  San  Francisco  my  attorneys  in- 
formed me  that  everything  was  ''O.  K.'*  If  I  came 
through  with  the  twenty  thousand  I  would  be  free  in 
forty-eight  hours! 

I  was  so  dejected  I  did  not  care  whether  I  was  free 
or  not  and  so  informed  my  lawyers.  They  told  me 
that  they  had  worked  hard  over  the  case,  that  there 
would  be  no  pubhcity  (the  suit  was  brought  in  a  remote 
town  in  lower  California)  and  that  I  would  better  pay 
the  money  and  get  it  over.  I  complied  with  their 
arguments  and  sailed  away  feeling  as  blue  as  the  waters 
beneath  me. 

Again  Fate  was  quietly  weaving  his  web.  At  the 
very  moment  that  I  had  secured  my  freedom,  after 
months  of  preparation,  Maxine  Elliott  filed  a  suit  for 
her  divorce.  Neither  of  us  knew  of  the  other's  intention 
until  the  American  papers  came,  eight  weeks  later,  with 
pages,    not    columns,    devoted    to    the    arch-conspiracy 

formed  by  us  at  San  Francisco!     I  had  "stolen"  Miss 

230 


PUBLICITY  — ITS  RESULTS  231 

Elliott  away  from  Frawley,  "deserted"  my  poor,  con- 
fiding (twenty-thousand-dollar)  wife.  Miss  Elliott  and 
I  had  obtained  our  divorces  in  order  to  marry  in 
Australia! 

It  was  very  difficult  to  inform  the  world  ten  thousand 
miles  away  that  we  very  innocently  signed  a  business 
contract  without  any  thought  of  matrimony.  But  the 
fact  of  our  obtaining  divorces  at  the  same  time,  hers 
following  mine  by  only  four  weeks,  was  proof  positive! 

I  shall  never  forget  the  day  Max  and  Gertrude  came 
to  my  room  in  the  hotel  in  Sydney  with  tears  streaming 
down  their  faces.  They  were  literally  buried  in  news- 
papers which  they  threw  on  the  tables,  chairs  and  bed. 
In  them  were  pictures  of  us  all  and  glaring  headlines  of 
a  most  sensational  character.  The  girls  upbraided  me 
for  not  telling  them  that  I  was  seeking  a  divorce.  I 
told  them  I  had  forgotten  all  about  it  until  my  arrival 
in  San  Francisco  and  in  my  turn  asked  Max  why  she 
didn't  let  me  know  that  she  was  endeavoring  to  secure 
her  freedom?  She  answered  that  it  was  nobody's 
business,  particularly  not  mine.  I  agreed  with  her  and 
suggested  that  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  say  nothing 
and  let  matters  take  their  course. 

I  succeeded  in  assuaging  her  grief  and  we  confined 
ourselves  to  writing  denials  to  our  friends  in  America. 
As  for  our  contemplated  plunge  into  matrimony  Ger- 
trude asked,  "Why  deny  that?  One  never  knows  what 
may  occur  and  you  two  do  certainly  seem  to  get  along 
together."  That  got  a  laugh  and  we  decided  not  to 
deny  the  possibility. 

During  our  Australian  tour  we  were  very  much  to- 
gether, the  three  of  us,  but  only  in  a  professional  and 
social  way.  Expressions  of  love  never  passed  between 
Maxine  and  me  then  —  and  very  few  in  after  life! 

Well,  we  finished  the  Australian  tour  and  came  back 
to  America,  only  to  be  met  with  more  severe  and  even 


232  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

more  vilifying  articles.  They  were  so  cruel,  untrue  and 
personal  that  I  very  foolishly  replied  to  one  or  two  of  the 
scorpion  writers,  which  resulted  in  the  article  I  shall 
quote  later  on  written  by  the  Hon.  Henry  Watterson, 
and  published  in  the  Louisville  "  Courier  Journal." 

I  think  that  even  then  we  would  not  have  married  if 
it  had  not  been  for  the  reports  circulated  by  three 
female  members  of  my  Austrahan  company;  one,  an 
old  lady  who  had  once  been  a  prima  donna  in  an  opera 
company,  another,  a  young  lady  whom  I  discharged  in 
Australia  for  being  photographed  nude  and  another  lady 
who  considered  that  Miss  Elliott  had  usurped  her  posi- 
tion in  my  company.  Two  of  these  ladies  perjured 
themselves  in  affidavits.  One  of  them  swore  that  Miss 
Elliott  and  I  had  communicating  cabins  on  the  ship 
coming  back,  also  communicating  rooms  at  Honolulu. 

The  columns  of  most  of  the  dailies  contained  articles 
not  quite  as  flagrant  as  the  above  accusations,  but 
enough  to  establish  a  liaison  between  us  and  to  ruin  the 
reputation  of  any  woman.  Having  dear  Gertrude  to 
prove  our  alibis  we  were  conscious  of  having  committed 
no  crime  and  still  allowed  matters  to  take  their  course. 

I  always  had  great  respect  for  Maxine's  brain  and  her 
splendid  opinions  regarding  untried  plays.  Had  it  not 
been  for  her  superlative  judgment  I  should  never  have 
produced  **An  American  Citizen"  or  "Nathan  Hale." 

Perhaps  she  discovered  that  my  roles  in  both  plays 
were  subservient  to  hers.  I  later  found  that  the  lady 
was  as  discerning  as  she  was  discriminating.  However, 
both  plays  were  produced  with  much  success.  We  both 
scored,  I  making  base  hits,  she,  home  runs.  I  first 
printed  her  name  featured  as  supporting  me,  but  as  I 
became  enamoured  of  her  charms  her  type  gradually 
became  larger  until  it  equaled  mine. 

I  think  if  we  had  been  associated  a  few  years  longer 
my  name  would  have  been  up  as  her  leading  support! 


^p."^^^^^  ^^^^^^K 

li 

^^^^B              ^^^^^l^^^kl^                                     '^^^^^^^^^^^^^B 

H 

ftSf^ 

^fl^^^^^^^H^^^^Bf 

In  An  American  Citizen 

//  xve  had  been  associated  a  few  years  longer  my  name  would  have  been 
up  as  her  leading  support! 


Chapter  LIV 
IN   THE   LAND   OF   THE   KANGAROO 


E  were  to  have  opened  our  Australian 
engagement  in  Sydney  —  but  we  didn't. 
At  the  dock,  awaiting  us,  was  James  C. 
Williamson,  then  and  until  his  death  the 
magnate  of  the  Antipodes  in  theatrical 
affairs.  I  had  known  him  back  in  New 
York  in  the  eighties  when  he  was  Just  "Jimmy."  I 
had  played  under  his  management  and  had  always 
found  him  a  likeable,  fair-minded  m^an.  We  were  to 
play  in  Australia  under  the  management  of  William.son 
and  Musgrove.  Mr.  George  Musgrove  had  made  the 
contract  with  me  before  we  started. 

Well,  as  soon  as  I  landed  Williamson  informed  me  we 
were  not  to  open  in  Sydney  but  must  through  to  Mel- 
bourne that  very  night. 

The  sting  of  this  disappointment  was  largely  lessened 
by  our  finding  on  the  pier,  ready  to  greet  us,  two 
American  girls,  one  of  them  little  Sadie  McDonald  whom 
we  all  loved.  Poor  little  Sadie  McDonald!  How  she 
wanted  to  go  back  to  God's  country!  She  died  before 
we  finished  our  engagement  in  Australia. 

That  night  we  went  to  Melbourne  was  the  coldest  I 
ever  lived  through.  It  was  like  a  December  blizzard 
without  the  snow.     And  the  date  was  July  24! 

Forgetting  that  we  were  going  to  a  land  where  the 
seasons  are  upside  down  I  had  no  heavy  clothing  with 
me  and  alm^ost  froze. 

We  were  billed  to  open  the  night  of  our  arrival.  In 
the   forenoon    I   drove  about   trying   to   discover   some 

233 


234  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

announcements  of  the  fact.  What  I  found  would  have 
done  injustice  to  a  high  school's  graduating  exercises. 
Then  I  remembered  that  Williamson  had  been  opposed 
to  my  coming.  I  found  him  and  asked  why  our  attrac- 
tion had  not  been  billed. 

**WeII,"  replied  Williamson,  "Musgrove  cabled  me  to 
announce  you  modestly  and  quietly." 

** You've  complied  with  the  request,"  I  said.  "Why 
didn't  you  say  Johnny  Jones  was  coming?  It  would 
have  meant  just  as  much.  Considering  the  years  we've 
known  each  other  I  consider  your  treatment  of  me  most 
untair. 

Musgrove's  idea  had  been  that  I  open  in  "The  Prisoner 
of  Zenda"  and  when  he  found  Maxine  and  Gertrude 
Elliott  were  to  be  in  my  company  he  had  wired  instruc- 
tions to  San  Francisco  to  have  them  measured  for 
costumes  and  the  figures  were  sent  to  him  in  London. 
Williamson  consistently  objected  to  my  playing  "  Zenda." 
He  thought  the  play  strong  enough  to  do  without  a 
star.  So  it  happened,  one  night  in  Chicago  where  I  was 
playing  "David  Garrick,"  that  Musgrove  changed  his 
mind  about  our  opening  bill.  I  held  out  for  "Zenda" 
firmly.  But  Musgrove  insisted  that  no  matter  what  my 
vehicle  I  was  sure  to  be  a  success  in  Australia.  In  the 
week  he  watched  my  work  I  put  on  six  different  plays 
and  after  each  one  he  was  more  enthusiastic.  I  couldn't 
make  him  realize  that  I  was  playing  before  a  pubhc  I 
had  grown  up  with,  who  came  to  see  me  in  any  play. 

"In  Australia,"  I  argued  with  him,  "I  shall  be  a  cold 
proposition  hurled  at  them  and  I  must  have  the  best 
play  possible  for  my  introduction.  As  the  prince  in 
'  Zenda '  I'm  only  part  of  the  ensemble  surrounded  by 
beautifully  gowned  women,  with  splendid  male  opposing 
parts,  playing  a  character  almost  any  good  actor  would 
succeed  in.  After  '  Zenda '  I  can  spring  my  repertoire 
with  some  chance." 


IN  THE  LAND  OF  THE  KANGAROO  235 

**  You're  the  best  actor  I  ever  saw,"  replied  Musgrove. 
**I  know  Australian  audiences  and  you'll  knock  *em 
dead." 

I  disagreed  with  him!  Therefore  I  changed  the  terms 
of  our  agreement  and  instead  of  taking  a  gamble  took 
fifteen  per  cent  of  the  gross  receipts  and  a  guarantee  of 
so  much  money  weekly.  McCIellan  signed  the  docu- 
ments for  me. 

Our  opening  bill  was  "A  Gilded  Fool."  You  may 
imagine  my  amazement  when  I  found  we  had  a  packed 
house.  And  it  was  a  most  kindly-disposed  audience  too. 
Every  member  of  the  company  got  a  reception  on  his 
entrance  and  I  came  in  for  an  ovation.  The  play  went 
especially  well,  I  thought.  We  went  home  assured  we 
had  made  a  hit.  The  papers  the  next  day  were  fairly 
enthusiastic,  with  one  exception,  and  that  one  criticized 
us  unmercifully.     The  opening  occurred  on  Saturday. 

Monday  night's  house  was  $120  in  our  money  —  and 
that  was  the  best  we  did  any  night  in  the  week  until 
Saturday  when  a  change  of  bill  drew  another  capacity 
audience.  Williamson's  local  manager  told  me  after 
this  second  Saturday  night  that  we  were  **all  right 
now."  But  Monday  night  came  and  with  it  a  1 150 
house.  Not  until  the  next  Saturday  night  and  a  change 
of  bill  did  we  do  any  business,  then  it  was  capacity 
again.  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Melbourne  was  a 
one-night  stand,  to  be  played  only  on  Saturday! 

This  was  the  story  of  the  whole  sixteen  weeks  I  played 
in  Australia.  The  last  week  in  Sydney,  however,  we 
did  do  a  trifle  over  $5,000  with  "An  American  Citizen,'* 
its  first  production  on  any  stage. 

Personally  I  had  a  bully  time,  particularly  on  the 
race  courses  where  I  spent  most  of  my  time. 

We  played  only  Sydney,  Melbourne  and  Adelaide. 
Our  business  in  Adelaide  was  wretched  but  the  weather 
was  worse!     It  was  as  hot  as  Melbourne  was  cold.     I 


236  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

never  suffered  so  with  the  heat.  I  am  told  that  Aus- 
traha  has  improved.  There  was  plenty  of  room  for 
improvement!  Had  it  not  been  for  the  generosity  of 
several  bookies  I  certainly  would  have  had  an  unhappy 
four  months. 

WilHamson  was  heartless  in  his  treatment  of  us.  I 
learned  from  one  of  his  staff  that  after  our  first  week 
Musgrove  cabled,  "Put  Goodwin  on  immediately  in 
*Zenda.'"  Williamson  stalled  with  Musgrove  for  almost 
the  whole  four  months.  Finally  when  Musgrove's  ire 
had  been  aroused  he  expressed  himself  so  emphatically 
in  his  cables  that  Wilhamson  came  to  me  and  asked 
that  I  remain  an  additional  ten  weeks,  appearing  in 
"Zenda."  Before  this  he  had  hardly  spoken  to  me.  And 
that  very  day  I  had  sent  dear  old  George  Appleton, 
my  personal  manager  at  the  time,  on  a  steamship  for 
America  to  book  a  tour  for  me  opening  in  San  Francisco 
in  November.  I  listened  to  Williamson's  proposition 
and  made  no  reply. 

"Shall  I  send  you  the  script  to  read?"  he  asked. 

"Jimmie,"  I  rephed,  "we've  been  friends  a  great 
many  years.  There  was  no  cause  for  your  brutality 
towards  my  company  and  me.  Now  back  of  you  is  the 
Bank  of  Australia.  For  all  the  gold  that  bank  contains 
you  couldn't  keep  me  here  ten  more  weeks  and  I  sail 
for  America  four  weeks  from  to-day.  Good  afternoon. 
Kindly  excuse  m^e.     I'm  going  to  the  races." 

And  that  was  the  last  conversation  I  ever  had  with 
James  C.  Williamson,  Esquire. 

An  incident  of  our  stay  in  Adelaide  may  serve  to 
show  the  mental  attitude  of  your  average  Antipodean. 
The  local  manager,  one  Goodi,  was  very  friendly  with 
me  and  I  liked  him  immensely.  He  worried  over  our 
failure  more  than  I  did.  One  night  he  met  me  in  the 
lobby  of  the  theatre  almost  distracted. 

"Think  of  these  people!"  he  exclaimed.     **They  liked 


IN   THE   LAND  OF  THE   KANGARCX)  237 

Mrs.  Brown  Potter  and  Kyrle  Bellew!  See  what  *A 
Trip  to  Chinatown'  is  doing,  packing  'em  in!  And  an 
artist  like  you  doing  nothing!  It's  a  blooming  shame. 
We  haven't  a  seat  sold  in  advance  for  to-night's  per- 
formance. Now,  don't  you  think  it's  wise  for  me  to 
paper  the  house?"  (To  "paper"  is  to  give  away 
tickets.) 

**Do  what  you  like,  Goodi,"  I  replied.  "I'm  satis- 
fied." 

Directly  opposite  the  theatre  lounging  in  chairs  on 
the  sidewalk  was  a  gang  of  men,  about  sixty  I  should 
say.  They  were  rather  a  rough  looking  lot  but  I 
thought  they  might  be  human.  I  suggested  we  invite 
them  in.  Goodi  approached  them.  After  a  moment 
they  silently  slouched  out  of  their  chairs  and  shufHed 
into  the  lobby  in  a  body.  Here  they  gathered  into  little 
groups  and  held  a  consultation.  Finally  one  of  them 
approached  Goodi  and  pulling  off  his  cap  asked,  "It's 
all  right,  guv'nor,  but  what  do  we  get  for  our  time?" 

One  other  incident  of  that  Australian  visit  was  not  so 
humorous.  It  happened  early  in  our  stay.  I  had 
noticed  for  several  days  that  McCIellan  was  nervous 
and  ill  at  ease.     Finally  I  asked  him  to  explain. 

"Well,"  he  began  haltingly,  "I  guess  I've  got  to  tell 
you.     It'll  come  out  soon  enough.     I'm  broke." 

"That's  all  right,  George.  My  guarantee  of  $1500  a 
week  gives  us  a  profit  of  $600.  And  you  have  the 
tickets  back  to  San  Francisco." 

"That's  it,"  wailed  McClellan.  "  I  haven't!  I  haven't 
even  paid  for  the  tickets  that  brought  us  over." 

"How  did  you  get  them  then?"  I  asked. 

*'I  went  to  Adolph  Spreckles,"  he  replied,  "and  on 
the  strength  of  your  name  got  him  to  lend  me  the 
money  and  I  signed  notes  for  it.  And  the  first  one  is 
due  tomorrow." 

I   felt  like  pitching  him   out  of  the  window.     The 


238  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

tickets  cost  almost  $9,000!  And  I  was  stung  for  it  I 
That  was  the  end  of  George  B.  McCIellan  so  far  as  I 
was  concerned,  at  least  for  many  years.  (Finally  I 
made  it  up  with  him  at  a  supper  in  London  given  by 
the  Savage  Club  to  the  Lambs.)  I  never  have  thought 
George  meant  to  do  wrong.  He  simply  took  a  gamble 
and  lost  out.  It  was  fortunate  for  the  company  that 
it  was  I  who  was  the  goat.  Had  it  not  been  so  most 
of  them  would  have  been  stranded  in  that  awful  land  I 
As  it  was  I  got  them  all  back  to  San  Francisco. 

In  the  previous  chapter  I  referred  casually  to  my 
becoming  engaged  to  Maxine.  It  may  be  well  to 
enlarge  a  bit.  The  divorce  proceedings  instituted  by 
my  attorneys  against  Nella  Baker  Pease  had  been  quite 
forgotten  by  me.  It  was  not  until  we  had  been  in 
Australia  four  weeks  that  it  was  called  to  my  attention 
and  then  as  I  have  already  described.  The  day  it 
happened  had  been  an  especially  profitable  one  for  me 
at  the  track  and  I  came  back  to  the  hotel  buoyant  and 
full  of  good  spirits.  I  remember  detached  bits  of  our 
conversation  following  the  hysterical  entrance  of  Maxine 
and  Gertrude. 

**ril  never  go  back  to  that  beastly  country,"  wailed 
Maxine.  "Just  see  what  they  say  about  you  and  me," 
and  she  thrust  an  armful  of  newspapers  at  me.  "Never 
mind  me,"  I  rephed.  "Think  of  yourself."  And  when 
I  discovered  that  that  attempt  at  consolation  was  no 
go  I  added,  "Why,  it  will  all  be  dead  by  the  time  we 
get  back."  Maxine  was  not  to  be  comforted,  however. 
She  was  sure  our  arrival  in  America  would  result  in  a 
fresh  outburst  of  scandaL  "Maybe  it  will,"  I  agreed, 
"but  we  haven't  done  any  wrong,  any  harm,  so  why 
should  we  worry?"  Maxine  wrung  her  hands  and 
sobbed.  "We  know  our  behavior  has  been  absolutely 
right,"  I  urged.  "We  know,"  said  Maxine,  "but  the 
world  doesn't  know."     And  I  confess  I  could  find  noth- 


IN  THE  LAND  OF  THE  KANGAROO  239 

fng  to  say  to  that.  I  was  rattled.  A  chicken  I  had 
bought  on  my  way  home  from  the  track  and  had  put 
on  a  spit  to  roast  over  my  grate  fire  was  a  mass  of 
charcoal  when  I  fmally  discovered  it.  At  dinner  I  upset 
a  bottle  of  claret  all  over  the  table  cloth  and  spilled  a 
pot  of  hot  tea  into  Gertrude's  lap.  It  was  the  most 
inharmonious  meal  I  ever  ate.     I  was  rattled! 

And  all  the  time  Gertrude  said  nothing.  That  is  up 
to  the  moment  that  scalding  tea  hit  her.  Then  she  let 
go! 

**You  two  people  are  acting  like  a  couple  of  fools," 
she  began  —  succinctly.  ''There's  only  one  way  out  of 
ft  and  you've  got  to  take  it." 

*'What  is  it?"  Maxine  and  I  asked. 

''Cable  America  you're  engaged  and  are  to  be  married 
some  time  next  season." 

I  left  the  room.  At  the  theatre  Maxine  and  I  made 
no  reference  to  Gertrude's  suggestion.  On  our  return 
to  the  hotel  I  tried  to  excuse  myself  from  our  usual 
supper.  But  Max,  with  a  merry  little  twinkle  in  her 
eyes,  said,  "Oh  come  on." 

"What  do  you  think  of  Gertrude's  suggestion?"  asked 
Max. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?"  I  parried. 

"I'm  game,"  said  Max. 


"You're  on,"  said  I. 

And  thus  began  my  "romance." 


Chapter  LV 


m 

1                      'rgr 

^^«i 

CM 

^1 

iw 

^^ 

_V_V^  m 

WELCOME  (!)  HOME 

I  HE  Australian  sense  of  humor  is  pecul- 
iar. My  last  night  at  Sydney,  at  the 
end  of  the  five-thousand-dollar-week,  I 
interpolated  in  my  speech  of  farewell 
a  line  from  Shakespeare,  "Parting  is 
such  sweet  sorrow."  The  audience  ap- 
plauded vociferously! 

We  packed  with  joyous  anticipation.  We  were  going 
home! 

After  we  got  out  of  the  theatre  I  made  straight  for 
a  little  hotel  run  by  a  New  England  woman  and  gorged 
myself  on  baked  beans!  On  the  way  I  ran  across 
Arthur  Hoops  and  Louis  Payne. 

"Governor,"  said  Payne,  "if  we  turn  up  aboard  the 
ship  to-morrow  a  bit  squiffy  or  with  a  hold-over,  you 
won't  mind,  will  you?"  "Go  to  it,"  responded  L 
"I  may  turn  up  that  way  myself."  They  kept  their 
promise  and  I  nearly  kept  mine! 

There  were  hundreds  of  people  at  the  pier  to  see  us 
off.  I  wondered  if  they  were  inspired  by  feelings  of 
gratitude!  It  sounded  like  a  courteous  farewell  but  I 
was  never  sure. 

At  Honolulu  we  had  our  first  taste  of  the  "Welcome 
home"  we  were  all  so  fondly  counting  on.  A  new 
theatre  had  just  been  finished  and  a  Mr.  Marks,  now 
one  of  the  lessees  of  the  Columbia  Theatre  in  San  Fran- 
cisco, was  on  the  ground  making  arrangements  for  its 

formal    opening   as   agent    for   the    Frawley   company. 

240 


As  Bob  Acres 

/  gave  Bob  a  country  dialect 


WELCOME  (!)   HOME  241 

Almost  as  soon  as  we  docked  a  dozen  gentlemen  ap- 
proached me  and  asked  that  I  give  a  performance  that 
night  in  the  new  playhouse.  I  told  them  it  was  impossi- 
ble; our  wardrobes  and  scenery  were  packed  in  the  hold 
of  the  ship;  it  would  be  out  of  the  question. 

"Never  mind,"  said  they,  "go  on  in  your  street 
clothes!" 

I  explained  we  had  no  make-up  even.  My  company 
was  scattered  all  over  the  island,  sight-seeing. 

"We'll  send  out  a  posse  and  corral  them,"  they 
insisted. 

"But  how  will  anyone  know  we're  going  to  play?" 
I  asked. 

"We'll  call  everybody  in  town  on  the  telephone  and 
tell  them,"  they  replied. 

And  they  did.  And  that  night,  in  our  street  clothes 
and  without  make-up,  we  gave  a  performance  that  took 
in  $1 100,  of  which  I  got  ninety  per  cent!  It  was  a  nice 
bit  of  spending  money  on  the  way  to  San  Francisco. 

Marks  was  very  indignant.  But  the  gentlemen  told 
him  that  if  he  tried  to  prevent  the  performance  they 
would  cancel  the  contract  with  Frawley. 

Altogether  that  stop  at  Honolulu  was  joyous.  And 
as  we  sailed  out  of  the  harbor  the  next  morning,  followed 
by  the  strains  of  Aloha  from  the  native  band,  vvc  were 
a  very  happy  lot. 

We  were  amazed  to  find  a  solid  jam  of  humanity 
waiting  on  the  pier  in  San  Francisco.  Such  a  greeting 
had  never  entered  our  minds!  When  we  opened  the 
newspapers  we  found  the  reason.  They  were  teeming 
with  the  most  sensational  matter  concerning  our  goings 
on  in  Australia.     It  was  indeed  a  "welcome  home!" 

We  paid  as  little  attention  to  the  scurrilous  slanders 
as  possible  and  prepared  for  our  opening  at  the  Baldwin 
Theatre  in  "An  American  Citizen."  As  a  measure  of 
safetv   I  announced  "The  Rivals"  as    the  bill   for  the 


242  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

second  half  of  the  week.     But  capacity  audiences  was 
the  rule  during  the  w^hole  engagement. 

I  was  very  nervous  about  doing  "The  Rivals."  I 
knew  comparison  with  Jefferson  was  inevitable.  I  had 
caught  it  in  Australia  for  daring  to  play  a  role  made 
classic  by  the  "dean  of  the  drama*'  and  I  feared  for  my 
presumption  in  invading  his  own  bailiwick.  I  was  afraid 
I  could  never  avoid  using  Jefferson's  methods  as  I  had 
played  with  him  so  many  times;  but  I  finally  hit  on 
the  plan  of  giving  Bob  a  country  dialect  and  this  made 
him  a  very  different  characterization  from  Jefferson's. 
I  received  splendid  reviews  and  one  editorial. 


Chapter  LVI 
NUMBER  THREE 


HE  series  of  malicious  falsehoods  con- 
cerning Maxine  and  me  which  were 
being  published  daily  would  have  made 
us  fit  subjects  for  the  penitentiary  had 
they  been  true.  Articles,  hideous  in 
their  construction,  were  sent  broadcast 
throughout  the  country  purporting  to  picture  our  hves 
and  conduct  in  the  Antipodes.  (And  wdth  what  zest 
did  the  press  of  America  copy  them!) 

By  the  time  our  opening  in  "An  American  Citizen" 
arrived  we  w^ere  so  nervous  we  gave  a  performance  fifty 
per  cent  below  our  best.  But  the  next  morning  we 
were  amazed  to  discover  that  w^e  were  a  great  aggrega- 
tion of  actors  —  Maxine  and  I  scoring  tremendously! 
The  papers  expressed  much  surprise  that  she  had  "im- 
proved" so  much  during  her  short  association  wdth  me. 
Poor,  deluded  critics!  Never  by  any  possible  chance 
do  you  differentiate.  Never  do  you  disassociate  the 
player  from  his  part.  A  genius  playing  Osric  w^ould 
vanish  into  obscurity  if  a  duffer  were  playing  Hamlet. 
Maxine  EHiott,  be  she  good  or  bad,  was  quite  as  clever 
when  I  first  sav/  her  act  as  the  night  she  opened  with 
m^e  in  San  Francisco.  But  now  she  was  appearing  in  a 
star  part,  surrounded  by  a  clever  company,  beautifully 
gowned  and  (pardon  a  little  pride)  very  carefully  edited! 
She  had  left  a  dollar  aggregation,  an  extremely  good 
competitor,  Miss  Blanche  Bates  (whose  acting  eclipsed 
Maxine's  beauty),  and  a  company  of  players  all  acting 

243 


244  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

for  individual  hits  irrespective  of  the  ensemble.  She 
returned  a  member  of  an  organization  noted  for  its 
team  work  whose  motto  was  "One  for  all  and  all  for 
one"  —  and  that  particular  one  Maxine!  She  appeared 
in  a  character  molded  to  her  charm  and  beauty  and 
supported  (!)  by  a  star  of  twenty  years'  standing! 

Naturally  she  scored  in  such  an  environment!  She 
would  have  done  as  well  months  before  under  the  same 
conditions,  but  the  ever  wise  critic  saw  an  "improve- 
ment." 

Was  it  her  acting  or  the  unwholesome  notoriety  that 
preceded  us  that  had  opened  his  discerning  eyes? 

I  wonder. 

I  sandwiched  in  "The  Rivals"  with  "An  American 
Citizen"  as  a  matter  of  self-protection.  Max  was  fairly 
smothering  me  in  most  of  the  cities  we  visited!  I  was 
shining  in  a  reflected  light,  her  effulgence  forcing  me  back 
into  the  shadows.  Also,  and  equally  annoying  to  me, 
questions  were  beginning  to  be  asked  as  to  our  marital 
intentions.  Allusions  to  "Beauty  and  the  Beast"  were 
not  infrequent.  Happily  a  few  of  the  critics  were  re- 
spectful and  while  none  could  pay  homage  to  my  beauty 
a  few  allowed  that  I  had  not  lost  the  art  of  acting! 
This  was  encouraging  and  I  endeavored  to  win  the  fair 
Maxine  along  those  hnes. 

I  finally  succeeded! 

But  it  was  some  endeavor! 

I  don't  remember  the  date  of  the  marriage.  It  is 
extremely  difficult  for  me  to  remember  dates.  I  know 
the  place,  however!  It  was  the  HoIIenden  Hotel  in 
Cleveland.  And  I  know  I  spent  the  previous  evening 
with  dear  Dick  Golden  and  Walter  Jones  and  we  three 
jolly  bachelors  had  a  bully  time!  It  was  a  lucky  thing 
that  the  marriage  ceremony  was  only  recovery  for 
me!  The  boys  had  put  me  in  no  condition  to  learn  a 
new  part! 


NUMBER  THREE  245 

Max  received  two  wedding  presents  —  a  diamond 
ring  from  me  and  an  anonymous  letter  from  some 
"Christian  lady"  warning  her  against  the  "Monster'* 
who  had  lured  her  into  "Holy  Matrimony!" 

We  were  very  happy  —  at  least  I  was  —  for  a  few 
months.  I  made  the  mistake  of  introducing  her  to  a 
few  conspicuous,  powerful  financiers  who  gave  her  tips 
on  the  stock  market  (and  casual  luncheons!).  They 
also  gave  me  tips.  Mine  lost  invariably.  Hers  always 
won.     How  very  strange! 

As  we  toured  through  the  country  to  splendid  business 
I  discovered  her  authority  was  growing.  I  was  con- 
stantly being  censured  for  my  grammar.  She  began  to 
stage-manage  my  productions  without  waiting  for  my 
suggestions.  She  complained  of  my  companions  whom 
she  found  "common."  My  previous  marriages  came  in 
for  a  share  of  her  disapproval. 

I  found  this  amusing  inasmuch  as  she  herself  had 
made  a  previous  plunge;  as  I  had  taken  one  of  her 
family  out  of  a  lumber  yard  and  tried  to  make  him  an 
actor;  as  I  had  taken  a  cousin  from  a  picture  gallery  in 
Boston  where  she  was  going  blind  trying  to  copy  minia- 
tures and  made  her  an  actress,  and  as  another  member 
of  her  family  had  committed  suicide  in  a  disreputable 
place  in  San  Francisco.  With  this  genealogical  tree 
waving  in  the  background  she  still  had  the  courage 
to  pluck  my  friends  from  my  garden  and  call  them 
vulgar. 

Perhaps  they  were  and  are,  but  they  all  continue  to 
be  my  friends! 

It  was  during  the  run  of  "An  American  Citizen"  that 
the  first  thought  of  the  disruption  of  my  union  with 
Maxine  clouded  my  mind.  It  is  seldom  I  care  to  refer 
to  the  dead  except  in  a  kindly  way,  but  her  attitude  and 
that  of  Clyde  Fitch  is  sufficient  provocation. 

Fitch  at  this  time  (in  1897)  was  not  especially  pros- 


246  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

parous.  Two  years  earlier  he  had  come  to  me  with  an 
idea  of  making  a  play  out  of  the  story  of  Nathan  Hale's 
life.  I  had  told  him  I  thought  it  an  excellent  subject 
and  to  go  ahead.  When  he  finished  the  play  he  decided 
it  was  beyond  my  capabihties  and  submitted  it  instead 
to  E.  H.  Sothern  —  who  turned  it  down!  Then  he 
went  to  Mansfield  with  the  script  and  again  met  with 
no  encouragement.  From  Mansfield  he  peddled  "Na- 
than Hale"  to  each  of  the  three  Frohmans  —  and  they 
unanimously  voted  it  no  good. 

Thus  it  transpired  that  I  was  in  no  friendly  mood 
when  I  received  the  following  letter :  — 

154,  West  Fifty-Seventh  St. 
Oct.  24,  1897. 

My  dear  Mr.  Goodwin. 

I  am  just  returned  to  N.Y.  &  I  am  glad  to  find  you  here,  at  least  I 
shall  be  glad  if  you  let  me  read  you  my  new  play  —  "  Nathan  Hale  " 
—  &  dont  escape  me  as  you  did  so  successfully  in  London.  If 
you  liked  the  scheme  &  story  at  all,  I  feel  pretty  sure  you  will 
like  the  play  itself  twice  as  well,  &  if  you  had  been  at  the  new 
Columbia  College  the  other  day  when  they  unveiled  a  bas  relief  of 
Knowlton  —  one  of  my  characters  —  &  heard  the  tremendous  enthu- 
siasm at  the  shghtest  mention  of  Hale,  I  think  your  interest  in  the 
play  &  subject  would  have  immensely  increased. 

I  can  read  it  in  two  hours  —  or  less,  you  can  send  me  away  as 
soon  after  I  start  as  you  like,  if  you  dont  care  about  it.  I've  no 
desire  to  choke  the  play  down  yr  throat.  All  I  want  you  to  do  is 
take  one  chance  in  it!  &  right  away,  as  I  am  back  here  to  sell  this 
play  to  somebody  &  dont  want  to  waste  time.  Wont  you  give  me 
an  appointment  tomorrow?  or  the  next  day?  or  the  next?  (Any 
hour  you  like.)      Go  on!    Do! 

Yours, 

Clyde  Fitch 

I  must  tell  you  the  girl's  part  comes  out  rather  important,  but  I 
hope  you  won't  mind  that. 

And  this  is  the  gentleman  who,  a  few  years  later, 
insisted  on  the  transportation  of  an  entire  company 
from    Philadelphia   to   New   York   because   he  was   too 


Maxine  Elliott 
Fate's  partner 


NUMBER  THREE  247 

weary  to  make  the  trip  himself.  (The  company  was 
rehearsing  one  of  his  plays  and  he  insisted  on  personally 
supervising  it.) 

Even  after  his  supplicating  letter  I  dodged  Fitch. 
I  didn't  like  him  in  the  first  place  and  his  shabby 
behavior  with  "Nathan  Hale"  made  me  disgusted  with 
him.  I  broke  a  dozen  appointments  with  him,  but 
finally  he  cornered  me  and  I  had  to  hear  the  play. 
While  I  knew  I  could  neither  look  nor  suggest  the  char- 
acter I  did  see  possibiHties  for  acting  and  I  was  sure  the 
role  of  Alice  Adams  would  fit  Maxine  down  to  the 
ground.  For  these  reasons  I  agreed  to  produce  the 
play. 

From  that  da}^  forward  Clyde  Fitch  and  my  wife 
conspired  against  me.  They  exchanged  endearing  ex- 
pressions through  the  mail  —  aided  and  abetted  by  the 
wife  of  a  Chicago  dentist  who  had  committed  suicide 
after  one  of  his  "best  friends"  had  stolen  his  wife  (who 
deserted  her  child  to  come  to  New  York  and  aid  other 
women  with  affinities!).  Fancy,  killing  one's  self!  Why 
not  kill  her  and  her  paramour? 

They  made  a  worthy  trio!  And  they  finally  suc- 
ceeded in  hatching  a  scheme  which  developed  in  Maxine's 
starring  alone  in  a  play  written  for  her  by  Fitch  called 
"Her  Own  Way"  —  an  appropriate  title  cunningly  se- 
lected. They  launched  her  as  a  star  (on  my  money!)  and 
broke  up  my  home!  They  had  to  come  to  me  to  obtain 
bookings  for  a  road  tour.  For  putting  up  the  cash  I 
was  to  get  one  third  of  the  profits.  Abe  Erianger 
refused  to  go  in  with  me  for  one  dollar,  insisting  that 
Maxine  would  be  an  awful  flivver  on  her  own.  But 
the  play  made  an  instant  hit  and  her  success  was  just 
as  big. 

Could  I  have  possessed  even  a  little  bit  of  clairvoy- 
ance I  should  have  then  and  there  bought  a  ticket  to 
Reno ! 


Chapter  LVII 


WHEN     WE     WERE     TWENTY-ONE 
AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

UR  success  with  ''Nathan  Hale"  was  tre- 
mendous. For  Maxine  it  was  nothing 
short  of  a  triumph.  And  during  the  sea- 
son I  signed  a  contract  with  Fitch  for 
another  play  to  follow  it.  He  turned 
out  "The  Cowboy  and  the  Lady." 
Neither  Max  nor  I  fancied  our  characters  and  although 
we  did  big  business  with  the  play  we  were  most  uncom- 
fortable in  our  roles.  It  failed  miserably  in  London  — 
where  they  recognize  the  real  value  of  plays! 

I  think  it  was  the  summer  of  1898  (but  what  differ- 
ence does  it  make?)  that  I  met  Henry  V.  Esmond,  the 
author-actor  and  a  very  clever  young  man.  In  any 
event  it  was  in  London  and  at  the  time  of  the  failure 
of  "The  Cowboy  and  the  Lady."  He  asked  me  how  I 
would  like  a  play  founded  on  Thackery's  poem  "When 
We  Were  Twenty-One."  I  thought  the  idea  immense 
and  told  him  so.  We  made  a  contract  for  the  play  on 
the  spot  and  six  weeks  later  he  delivered  the  manu- 
script! 

Max  and  I  were  both  delighted  with  it.  We  brought 
it  back  with  us  in  the  Fall  but  instead  of  producing  it 
in  New  York  immediately  we  revived  "The  Cowboy  and 
the  Lady."  Poor  as  that  play  was  it  absolutely  refused 
to  play  to  bad  business!  I  kept  it  on  until  about  the 
middle  of  the  season  and  took  it  off  with  a   nineteen- 

hundred-dollar-house  begging  me  to  keep  it  going! 

248 


WHEN  WE  WERE  TWENTY-ONE  249 

"When  We  Were  Twenty-One"  made  the  biggest  and 
the  most  nearly  instantaneous  hit  of  any  play  I  ever 
produced.  It  was  a  gold  mine  for  me.  But  there  is 
little  I  could  say  about  it  that  any  of  you,  dear  readers, 
can't  anticipate.  I  might  say  only  that  I  never  played 
the  role  I  liked  best  in  the  play! 

It  was  along  about  this  time  that  I  made  a  production 
of  "The  Merchant  of  Venice."  And  it  was  a  produc- 
tion! And,  although  it  was  not  so  advertised,  it  was  as 
nearly  an  "all-star"  cast  as  many  of  the  revivals  of  late 
years  have  been  —  if  not  more  so !  For  four  weeks  my 
characterization  of  Shylock  seemed  to  please  the  public 
and  certainly  attracted  large  audiences  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  the  critics  in  New  York  roasted  my  performance 
to  a  fare-ye-well.  For  one  reason  or  another  the  critics 
have  ahvays  resented  me  except  as  a  comedian! 

My  next  production  was  "The  Altar  of  Friendship" 
which  had  been  a  failure  w^ith  John  Mason  in  the  leading 
role.  He  had  made  a  great  personal  success  and  the 
play  had  received  splendid  notices  but  the  public  stayed 
away.  When  the  late  Jacob  Litt  consigned  the  produc- 
tion to  the  storehouse  I  opened  negotiations  with  him, 
bought  the  property  and  put  it  on.  It  proved  to  be 
one  of  the  biggest  money-makers  Maxine  and  I  ever 
had!  But  Maxine's  bee  for  starring  alone  came  buzzing 
by  and  deafened  her  to  the  tinkle  of  the  box  office 
receipts.  It  finally  stung  me  and  our  professional 
partnership  came  to  an  end.  "The  Altar  of  Friendship" 
was  our  last  joint  vehicle. 

"The  Usurper"  was  my  first  production  after  our 
separation.  It  made  a  big  hit  on  the  road  but  failed  in 
New  York.  I  left  Gotham  at  the  end  of  two  weeks  and 
went  to  Boston  where  we  did  a  tremendous  week,  con- 
tinuing on  for  the  rest  of  the  season  to  splendid  business. 

It  was  during  this  time  that  Klaw  &  Erianger  ap- 
proached   me   with   an    offer   to   open   their   new    New 


250  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

Amsterdam  Theatre.  The  bill  was  to  be  "A  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream,"  my  role  Bottom.  It  sounded  good  to 
me  and  I  accepted.  Erianger  gave  it  a  most  lavish  pro- 
duction and  announced  it  for  a  long  run.  The  open- 
ing house  was  $2700!  But  the  next  night  the  receipts 
dropped  to  $1100.  I  have  always  believed  it  was  due 
to  insufficient  advertising  and  to  the  fact  that  the 
theatre  was  new  and  in  a  strange  locality  (in  those  days 
Forty-second  Street  west  of  Seventh  Avenue  was  strange 
—  theatrically!). 

Erianger  was  much  annoyed.  He  was  not  very  keen 
for  Shakespeare  anyway.  In  his  disappointment  he 
rashly  determined  to  end  our  engagement  in  three 
weeks.  I  argued  and  pleaded  in  vain.  I  could  not 
make  him  see  it  was  madness  dehberately  to  kill  all 
chances  of  our  making  any  money  on  the  road.  And 
to  quit  in  three  weeks  in  New  York  was  admission  of 
failure  beyond  dispute. 

It  didn't  take  long  for  the  trouble  to  start.  Within 
a  fortnight  Alan  Dale  got  in  his  choicest  work.  An 
illustrated  page  in  the  Hearst  Sunday  paper  showed 
Maxine,  costumed  to  represent  Florence  Nightingale, 
standing  Juno-like  with  outstretched  hands  as  if  she 
might  be  Charity  —  or  perhaps  Hope !  Below  her  v/as 
a  caricature  of  Arthur  Byron  who  had  just  failed  in  a 
play  called  "Major  Andre."  Maxine  had  moved  into  the 
Savoy  Theatre  as  Byron  was  forced  out.  He  was  pic- 
tured running  up  a  hill  with  a  valise  in  his  hand,  saying, 
"She  saved  me,  Nat!"  I  was  down  in  the  lower  left 
hand  corner  at  the  back  door  of  a  theatre  in  a  beseech- 
ing attitude.  Out  of  my  mouth  issued  these  words: 
"Won't  you  please  come  in,  Max?" 

That  alleged  comic  picture  settled  our  road  business 
once  and  for  all.  To  make  matters  worse,  if  that  were 
possible,  Klaw  &  Erianger  acted  on  Dale's  suggestion 
and  insisted  on  Maxine's  following  my  engagement  at 


WHEN  WE  WERE  TWENTY-ONE  251 

the  New  Amsterdam.  I  knew  this  was  the  last  straw 
and  fatal  to  whatever  chances  we  might  have  had  other- 
wise and  I  asked  to  be  let  out  then  and  there.  But 
Erianger  insisted  that  we  go  to  Boston. 

Our  company  numbered  one  hundred  and  fifty 
people!     Our  weekly  expenses  were  $6,000! 

Arrived  in  Boston  I  strolled  into  the  HoIIis  Street 
Theatre  where  we  were  to  open.  There  wasn't  a  soul 
on  HoIIis  Street  as  I  turned  the  corner  from  Washington 
Street.  It  was  noon  and  I  had  expected  to  see  a  line 
extending  half  way  to  the  corner.  I  found  the  treasurer 
in  the  box  office  smoking  a  cigarette.  After  the  usual 
salutations  I  inquired  casually  if  we  were  sold  out. 

**Pipe  that  rack,"  quoth  the  treasurer  laconically  as 
he  indicated  a  forest  of  tickets  arranged  on  a  board. 

"Are  all  those  tickets  for  to-night?"  I  asked. 

**Uh  huh,"  grunted  the  treasurer  and  took  a  deep 
inhale  of  his  cigarette. 

We  opened  to  less  than  $600.  The  performance 
made  such  a  tremendous  hit  that  we  were  sold  out  the 
last  three  performances  of  the  week  and  the  following 
week  saw  never  an  empty  seat  at  any  performance  — 
and  for  all  that  we  made  no  money!  From  Boston  we 
went  to  Brooklyn  where  our  opening  house  was  S400. 
(Florence  Nightingale  was  working  her  influence!)  We 
plaj^ed  to  gradually  increasing  business  —  but  not 
enough  to  cover  expenses  —  during  the  rest  of  the  week. 
The  next  (and  last)  stand  was  Newark  where  we  opened 
to  $200!  Again  business  increased  with  every  perform- 
ance but  again  we  had  a  losing  week.  Then  it  was  I 
insisted  on  closing.  Florence  Nightingale  was  an  ad- 
vance agent  no  attraction  could  hope  to  win  out  against. 
Thus  Newark  saw  the  last  of  "A  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream." 

And  this  is  the  record  of  a  play  which  drew  in  two 
performances  in  one  day  more  than  $5,000!     The  day 


252  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

was  the  last  Saturday  of  our  three-weeks'  run  at  the 
New  Amsterdam! 

Following  this  fiasco  I  entered  into  a  contract  with 
Charles  Frohman  under  which  we  produced  "Beauty 
and  the  Barge,"  by  Jacobs,  the  English  playwright.  It 
should  have  run  a  year.  It  failed  dismally.  I  knew  it 
would  after  witnessing  the  dress  rehearsal.  David 
Warfield,  Frohman  and  I  sat  out  front  at  that  rehearsal, 
my  part  being  read  so  I  could  get  an  idea  of  the  en- 
sembles. I  discovered  my  two  ingenues  might  have 
been  taken  from  the  Forest  Home!  My  two  hght 
comedians  were  so  light  I  am  sure  they  could  have 
walked  on  water!  An  old  man  character  insisted  on 
hitting  the  hard  stage  with  his  cane  —  supposed  to  be  a 
garden!  I  begged  Frohman  to  postpone  the  opening. 
These  five  people  had  a  twenty-two-minute  scene  before 
I  came  on.     Warfield  agreed  with  me. 

A  friend  of  Frohman's  had  come  in  meantime.  He 
insisted  that  my  ''marvelous"  acting  would  carry  the 

play. 

"Marvelous  acting  be  damned!"  I  cried.  "No 
human  being  could  succeed  with  such  incompetent 
surroundings." 

I  was  voted  down,  however,  and  the  next  night  we 
opened  at  the  Lyceum  Theatre.  The  pla^^  was  dead 
before  I  made  my  entrance,  a  score  of  men  leaving  the 
house  in  the  first  fifteen  minutes.  My  dressing-room 
was  within  five  feet  of  the  stage  and  I  could  hear  every 
sound,  from  front  and  back.  It  wrung  my  heart  as  I 
heard  the  delicate,  pretty  little  scenes  I  had  worshipped 
when  I  had  seen  Cyril  Maude's  company  play  it  in 
London  just  torn  all  to  pieces!  Point  after  point  went 
for  nothing.  All  the  humor  disappeared.  It  was 
awful! 

Finally  came  my  cue  and  I  went  on.  My  reception 
was  vociferous  and  brought  me  out  of  my  slough  of 


In  When  We  were  Twenty-One 

Tbe  biggest  bit  of  any  play  I  ever  produced 


WHEN  WE  WERE  TWENTY-ONE  253 

despair.  I  even  got  a  scene  call  after  I  made  my  exit. 
But  the  play  was  doomed.  Afterwards  I  commiserated 
with  Mr.  Jacobs  in  London  and  told  him  it  was  only 
the  acting  that  was  to  blame  for  its  failure  to  run  two 
years.     It  ran  two  weeks. 

"Wolfvillc,"  Clyde  Fitch's  dramatization  of  those  ex- 
cellent short  stories  by  Alfred  Henry  Lew4s,  was  my  next 
production.  This  time  it  was  not  the  fault  of  the  actors. 
Fitch  was  to  blame.  He  had  taken  all  of  Lewis'  char- 
acters and  then  tried  to  write  an  original  story  around 
them.  Fitch  couldn't  touch  Lewis  when  it  came  to 
Western  types  —  or  stories.  Again,  before  the  first  per- 
formance, I  told  Frohman  we  would  fail  —  and  we  did, 
the  piece  dying  at  the  end  of  six  weeks. 

Frohman  was  at  a  loss  to  provide  me  with  another 
play.  He  suggested  that  I  take  a  steamship  and  see  the 
first  performances  of  two  plays  which  he  controlled,  "Dr. 
Quick's  Patient"  and  "The  Alabaster  Staircase."  The 
latter  was  written  by  Captain  Marshall  of  England  who 
wrote  "The  Second  in  Command."  John  Hare  was  to 
enact  the  leading  role.  It  looked  good  to  me  and  I 
jumped  across.  My  trip  saved  me  two'  more  failures  as 
each  of  this  pair  of  plays  lasted  just  one  week.  Instead 
of  either  of  them  I  brought  back  a  manuscript  of  a 
comedy  called  "What  Would  a  Gentleman  Do?"  — 
which  proved  as  big  a  failure  as  any  I  ever  had!  Next 
I  produced  "The  Master  Hand"  by  a  Mr.  Fleming  — 
whew!  what  a  flivver!     (The  play,  of  course!) 

But  before  I  increase  this  list  further  let  me  hark 
back  to  matters  more  personal  if  no  less  gloomy! 


Chapter  LVIII 
AT  JACKWOOD 


URING  the  early  days  at  Jackwood  when 
I  was  busily  engaged  in  hiring  guests  to 
come  and  partake  of  my  board  and 
rooms  (I  mean  the  professional  diners 
out)  I  found  great  difficulty  in  securing 
patrons.  I  had  plenty  at  my  command 
so  far  as  professional  friends  and  visiting  Americans 
were  concerned,  but  the  fair  Maxine  had  the  English 
bee  in  her  American  bonnet  and  insisted  that  we  try  to 
get  together  some  of  the  impecunious  nobility  and  army 
men  as  guests. 

I  knew  of  no  one  who  represented  those  particular 
branches  and  had  no  desire  to  know  any,  but  being 
under  her  hypnotic  influence  I  sought  a  woman,  the  wife 
of  a  friend  of  mine,  an  American  mining  man,  who  knew 
all  the  swagger  members  of  "the  Guards."  Through 
her  influence  one  of  these  sapheads  was  persuaded  to 
visit  our  humble  home  from  Saturday  to  Monday.  He 
came,  accompanied  by  one  of  the  present  Dukes  of 
England'  (whose  father,  by  the  way,  died  owing  me  a 
paltry  two  thousand  dollars,  borrowed  on  the  race  course 
at  Deauvifle,  France).  They  came  down  with  Mme. 
Melba  and  Haddon  Chambers. 

We  had  a  lovely  time  (that  is,  I  presume  they  had). 
Max  insisted  on  my  entertaining  the  guests  between 
courses  with  my  supposedly  funny  stories.  GeneraHy 
after  the  telhng  of  each  one,  which  occupied  some  little 
time,  my  portion  of  the  feast  was  either  cold  or  con- 
fiscated by  the  butler.     Very  little  attention  was  paid 

254 


AT  JACKWOOD  255 

to  me  any  way  except  when  I  was  telling  anecdotes  (and 
on  the  first  of  every  month  when  the  bills  became  due!). 

On  this  particular  Sunday  evening  the  guests  saun- 
tered into  the  drawing  room  expecting  to  hear  Melba 
sing.     She  didn't  even  talk! 

Then  the  party,  in  couples,  sauntered  through  the 
house  and  inspected  the  grounds. 

Being  on  particularly  good  terms  with  the  butler  I 
selected  him  for  my  companion  and  we  quietly  strolled 
through  the  upper  rose  terrace  discussing  a  menu  that 
might  appeal  to  the  next  influx  of  England's  dilettantes.. 
By  this  time  all  my  American  friends  were  barred. 
Max  considered  them  "extremely  common"  by  now. 

The  butler  and  I  were  figuring  out  the  expenses  of 
the  previous  month  as  the  pale  moon  cast  its  rays  over 
my  book  of  memoranda.  Inadvertently  we  stopped 
before  an  open  window  of  the  drawing  room.  As  we 
stood  there  I  chanced  to  overhear  this  remark: 

**How  could  you  possibly  have  married  such  a  vulgar 
little  person?" 

Being  terribly  self  conscious  at  all  times  I  said  to  my 
butler,  **Luic,  I  am  the  v.  I.  p.  to  whom  that  chocolate 
soldier  is  referring.  Listen,  and  we'll  have  a  Warrior's 
opinion  of  a  Thespian!" 

Then  ensued  the  following  dialogue :  — 

She:     Do  you  think  him  vulgar? 

He:    Not  necessarily  vulgar,  but  an  awful  accent! 

She:  Well,  no  one  ever  accused  him  of  an  American 
accent.  He  was  educated  in  Boston.  Don't  you  think 
him  rather  amusing? 

He:     In  what  way? 

She:     By  way  of  anecdotes  and  funny  stories? 

He:  Were  those  stories  he  told  at  dinner  supposed 
to  be  funny? 

She:    Of  course;   didn't  you  hear  the  guests  laugh? 

He:     Yes;   so  did  I,  but  simply  in  a  spirit  of  compli- 


256  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

ment.  Is  he  supposed  to  be  a  comic  man  in  your 
country? 

She:     Extremely  so. 

He:     Really? 

She:     And  he  talks  remarkably  well. 

He:     Did  he  talk  remarkably  well  to-night? 

She:     I  thought  so. 

He:  Well,  maj'be,  but  I  was  deafened  by  your 
beauty.  I  saw  nothing  but  those  beauteous  eyes  of 
3'^ours,  my  dear  Mrs.  Goodwin  and  everything  else  was 
a  blank.     Really,  I — 

She:  Now  don't  pay  me  silly  compliments,  Lord 
Algy;    it  isn't  nice. 

He:  I  beg  your  pardon;  but  please  tell  me  how  did 
you  happen  to  marry  that  funny  little  man. 

She:  Now  don't  ask  impertinent  questions;  one  has  to 
get  married  and,  really,  when  he  talks  he  says  something. 

He:     Does  he  —  really? 

The  butler  and  I  resumed  our  stroll. 

Some  time  after  I  met  this  Grenadier,  talked  —  and 
said  something!     (My  editor  refuses  even  to  edit  it.) 

Jackwood  proved  a  lovely  summer  abode  for  me. 
It  cost  me  fifty  thousand  dollars  to  get  it  and  fifteen 
thousand  a  "year"  to  keep  it  up  (we  were  there  about 
ten  weeks  every  season).  It  cost  me  twenty-five  thou- 
sand dollars  to  lose  it! 

During  our  lives  at  Jackwood  incident  followed  inci- 
dent, each  of  which  convinced  me  the  autumn  leaves 
were  falling  that  would  soon  bury  me.  I  discovered  the 
fair  Maxine  was  being  bored  save  when  the  house  was 
filled  with  English  guests.  Americans  bored  her  even 
more  than  I  did!  My  repertoire  palled  and  the  anec- 
dotes she  screamed  at  when  we  first  were  wed  met  with 
but  little  response  and  that  only  when  the  dinner  table 
was  filled  with  English  guests  who  found  it  quite  as 
difficult  to  fathom  my  wit  as  Maxine. 


AT  JACKWOOD  257 

Life  at  Jackwood  was  beginning  to  pall  on  me.  Many 
Sundays  found  me  a  lonely  host.  Max  was  constantly 
accepting  invitations  to  meet  people  at  country  houses, 
spending  the  usual  Saturday  to  Monday  outing  away 
from  her  own  fireside. 

These  Saturday  to  Monday  gatherings  as  a  rule  were 
the  rendezvous  for  unblusiiing  husbands  and  wives 
whose  mates  were  enjoying  the  hospitality  of  opposite 
houses  of  intrigue.  Generally  no  husband  is  ever  in- 
vited to  these  meetings  accom.panicd  by  his  own  wife, 
the  husband  always  accepting  invitations  to  the  house 
party  of  his  friend's  wife  —  and  thus  the  silly  and 
unwholesome  game  goes  on. 

In  nine  weeks  my  wife  made  nine  trips  of  from  two 
to  six  days*  duration  each.  These  outings  included  a 
visit  to  one  of  England's  ex-Prime  Minister's  country 
house,  a  Member  of  Parliament's  yacht  and  a  society 
lady's  home  at  Doncaster. 

Being  very  respectable  at  the  time,  I  was  never  in- 
vited to  any  of  these  functions. 

During  my  entire  occupancy  of  Jackwood  I  accepted 
just  one  such  invitation.  And  then  I  was  bored  stiff. 
Of  all  the  asinine,  vacant,  vapid  lot  of  people  I  ever 
saw  commend  me  to  the  polyglot  mob  one  meets  at  the 
average  Saturday  to  Monday  gathering.  Even  the  few 
actors  and  actresses  who  were  present  seemed  to  absorb 
the  atmosphere  and  became  deadly  dull. 

You  must  understand  the  guests  are  invited  from  some 
ulterior  motive  —  women  to  meet  men  for  every  kind  of 
purpose,  men  to  mingle  with  m.en  for  financial  reasons, 
from  a  tip  on  the  race  course  to  the  promotion  of  a 
South  African  mining  scheme,  women  to  meet  women 
to  plot  and  intrigue  and  make  trouble  for  either  of  the 
sexes.  It  is  a  sort  of  clearing-house  for  the  sale  of  souls 
and  the  ruin  of  women's  morals.  At  these  gatherings 
more  plots  are  schemed,  more  sins  consummated,  more 


258  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

crimes  committed  than  at  Whitechapel  during  a  busy 
Sunday!  When  one  stops  to  consider  what  can  be 
accomphshed  by  a  bunch  of  these  parasites  in  forty- 
eight  hours  it  is  appalHng.  I  leave  it  to  your  imagina- 
tion —  what  can  be  consummated  in  a  week  at  these 
places  —  where  statesmen  and  financiers  lend  them- 
selves to  such  intrigues  —  on  yachts,  in  closed  stone 
castles  and  concealed  hunting  lodges! 

At  first  I  mildly  protested  against  my  wife's  accepting 
these  invitations  and  was  always  met  with  mild  acquies- 
cence and  a  desire  to  do  what  I  demanded.  If  it  were 
distasteful  to  me  she  would  not  accept  and,  like  a  duti- 
ful wife,  remain  at  home  with  me  from  Saturday  to 
Monday.  For  two  Sundays  we  sat  in  the  drawing  room 
with  each  other  twirling  our  thumbs!  It  was  a  day  of 
eloquent  silence  —  each  of  those  Sundays !  At  first  I 
tried  to  think  up  stories  to  amuse  her  but  she  would 
look  up  from  her  book  with  those  dreamy,  cruel  eyes, 
listen  for  a  moment  and  in  sweet  dulcet  tones  re- 
mark:— 

"Very  clever,  my  dear,  and  most  amusing,  but  you 
told  me  that  some  time  ago  at  Seattle!"  Then  she 
would  resume  the  reading  of  her  engagement  book  for 
the  following  week. 

I  soon  grew  tired  of  our  Saturday-to-Monday  tete-a- 
tetes  and  let  her  go  on  her  own  as  they  say  in  England. 
We  gave  a  few  parties,  but  as  I  found  it  difficult  to 
separate  my  friends  from  their  wives  I  gave  it  up  — 
and  usually  spent  my  forty-eight  hours  going  to  Paris 
to  see  a  play  or  to  Ostend  to  indulge  in  it. 

It  took  me  but  a  short  time  to  become  disgusted  with 
our  mode  of  living  and  alarmed  at  the  expense  involved. 
My  clever  wife  adroitly  managed  to  avoid  all  expense 
(although  we  had  agreed  to  share  it  equally).  Once  in 
a  while  she  would  accidcntly  leave  her  check  book  where 
I  could  see  it  and  the  stubs  convinced  me  she  was  not 


In  Nathan  Hale 

"They  bang  Nat  in  the  last  act" 


AT  JACKWOOD  259 

paying  any  of  the  household  bills.  Large  sums  were 
artfully  arranged  in  a  cipher  which  a  Philadelphia 
lawyer  or  a  writing  expert  could  not  fathom. 

** Cigarette  case  for  A"  might  mean  Arthur  or  Alice; 
"Luncheon  to  N"  might  be  Nelhe  or  Ned;  ''Sundries 
for  M "  might  mean  Mike  or  Mabel  —  and  there  you 
are.  Wherever  her  money  went  she  was  contributing 
nothing  to  the  maintenance  of  the  home  (which  included 
the  services  of  sixteen  servants) ! 

I  made  up  my  mind  to  bring  things  to  an  issue  —  to 
use  a  slang  expression,  to  vamp.  Ugly  rumors  were 
rife  concerning  the  attentions  of  the  ex-Prime  Minister, 
the  Member  of  Parhament,  two  American  millionaires, 
an  English  Lord  and  the  leading  man  of  Maxine's  com- 
pany. I  put  Jackwood  on  the  books  of  a  real  estate 
firm  and  placed  my  furniture  in  a  storehouse  together 
with  the  contents  of  my  wine  cellar  (only  to  see  them 
again,  alas,  adorning  the  home  of  my  wife  on  Duke 
Street,  London,  a  residence  purchased  during  our 
marriage,  to  which  I  was  never  invited!). 

After  I  had  tried  so  hard  to  entertain  her  at  Jackwood 
I  think  her  conduct  most  discourteous. 

Our  life  was  very  tranquil  at  Jackwood  so  far  as  we 
were  personally  concerned.  Things  went  along  pretty 
smoothly  until  we  made  a  trip  to  Trouville  for  a  holiday. 
I  was  privileged  to  enjoy  myself  alone  most  of  the  time 
as  the  fair  Maxine  would  leave  me  early  in  the  morning 
returning  in  time  for  dinner  after  a  day's  outing  on  the 
golf  links  accompanied  by  some  English  admirer.  I 
spent  most  of  my  time  gambling  at  the  Casino,  where  I 
managed  to  lose  thirty  thousand  dollars!  And  some  ass 
has  written :  — 

"  Unlucky  in  love,  lucky  at  cards  ! " 

Up  to  this  time  I  considered  my  wife  thoughtless  and 
fond  of  admiration  as  all  women  are  —  but  not  worse 
than   that.     The   only   tim.e   she   failed   to   exercise   her 


26o  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

diplomacy  and  splendid  tact  was  during  our  sojourn  at 
this  French  watering  place.  Perhaps  my  constant 
presence  irritated  her.  There  is  nothing  that  so  gets  on 
one's  nerves  as  the  presence  of  someone  who  is  a  bore. 
I  don't  blame  any  woman  for  wanting  to  jump  the 
traces  under  these  conditions.  The  only  thing  I  hold 
against  her  is  that  she  never  told  me.  It  would  have 
been  very  easy  and  I  would  willingly  have  released  her 
from  her  misery,  but  to  inform  people  by  inference  — 
to  make  a  boob  of  me  —  was  unkind,  unjust  and  cruel. 

It  never  occurred  to  me  that  I  was  boring  her  until 
I  came  across  a  letter  which  fell  into  my  hands  quite  by 
accident.  My  servant  mistook  it  for  a  note  addressed 
to  me  and  placed  it  with  several  others  he  had  pre- 
viously opened  for  my  perusal.  It  furnished  one  of  my 
reasons  for  divorcing  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the 
world.     Here  it  is:  — 

Wednesday 
Dear  Lord  

You   see    I    don't   quite   dare   say   " "   yet   but   you    wait 

till  we  take  our  next  walk  together  and  I  shall  practice  it  every 
minute.  You  nice  thing!  I  am  delighted  with  the  photograph  — 
it  stands  before  me  as  I  write  giving  the  modest  room  an  air  of 
fashion  and  I  shall  always  keep  it  among  my  treasures. 

Aren't  you  iucky  to   be  at with  that  blessed and  as 

many  attractive  people;  this  place  would  bore  you  to  death  I  think 
—  the  gaiety  seems  such  hollow,  tinsel-I}''  sort;  if  it  were  not  for 
golf  I  should  find  it  intolerable.  Unless  one  is  filled  with  sporting 
blood  and  goes  in  for  gambling  at  the  races,  one  has  a  pretty  dull 
time  but  then,  England  is  the  only  place  for  me  and  my  dolly  is 
always  stuffed  with  sawdust  when  I  am  away  from  it.  Perhaps 
I  shall  have  the  good  luck  to  see  you  in  London.  I  get  back 
Sept.  I  St  but  only  as  a  bird  of  passage;  probably  we  can't  stay 
there  even  one  night  for  I  must  go  at  once  to  the  country  to  see 

my  sister  and  stay  with  Lady from  Sat.  to  Monday  and  sail 

the  yth  which  means  Tuesday  would  be  our  only  day  in  town  I 
suppose.     Alas!     My  love  to  you  and  don't  forget  me.     I  am  filled 

with  the  most  affectionate  thoughts  of  you  all  at 

Maxine 


AT   JACKWOOD  261 

Any  man  who  could  live  with  a  woman  who  wrote 
such  a  letter  does  not  deserve  the  name  of  man.  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  quit  then  and  there  and  told  her 
so.  I  gave  her  my  reason,  kept  the  letter  and  took  the 
train  for  London  and  the  boat  for  America  —  thirty 
thousand  loser! 

Gee!  but  I  had  a  bully  summer! 

Maxine  Elliott  is  a  variously  gifted  woman.  With  the 
ambition  of  a  Cleopatra  she  used  me  as  a  ladder  to  reach 
her  goal  and  found  her  crowning  glory  in  the  blinding 
glare  of  a  myriad  incandescent  lights  which  spell  her 
name  over  the  portals  of  a  New  York  theatre.  She  is 
one  of  the  cleverest  women  I  ever  met.  Her  dignity  is 
that  of  a  Joan  of  Arc,  her  demeanor  Nero-like  in  its 
assertive  quality  and  yet  she  has  channels  of  emotion 
that  manifest  womanhood  in  the  truest  sense  of  the 
word. 


Chapter  LIX 


"WHY  DO  BEAUTIFUL  WOMEN  MARRY 
NAT  GOODWIN"? 

HY,  oh  why,  do  beautiful  women  marry 
Nat  Goodwin?'* 

I     shall     endeavor     to     answer     that 
query    so   frequently  put  to   me   by   the 
newspapers,     not     from     any     sense     of 
obligation   but    simply   in    the    spirit    of 
anecdote. 

Time  and  again  impertinent  printed  remarks  have 
been  made  about  my  plunging  into  matrimony  and  there 
have  appeared  flaming  headhnes  such  as,  **  Bluebeard 
Goodwin  Anticipates  a  Marriage"  (or  divorce!),  "Red 
Headed  Nat  Contemplates  Matrimony!"  etc. 

These  polite  and  complimentary  references  in  the 
yellow  journals  appear  as  a  rule  annually.  Generally 
they  occupy  half  a  page  and  are  illustrated  with  pictures 
of  the  poor  misguided  creatures  who  had  the  misfor- 
tune to  bear  my  name  with  my  photograph  stuck  up  in 
one  corner  (with  a  countenance  suggesting  more  the 
physiognomy  of  a  Bill  Sykes  than  a  Romeo!).  Then 
some  extremely  clever  reviewer  of  prize  fights  comes 
forth  with  this  headhne:  — 

"Why  do  Beautiful  Women  Shake  Nat  Goodwin?" 

The  scoffers,  the  envious,  who  know  nothing  about 

me  except  the  fact  that  I  have  furnished  paragraphers 

much    material    anent    my    "matrimonial    forays,"    are 

inclined  to  credit  my  succession  of  beautiful  wives  for 

any    success    that    I    have    attained.     Matrimony    may 

262 


BEAUTIFUL  WOMEN  AND  NAT  GOODWIN       263 

and  often  does  breed  notoriety  and  an  actor's  record 
may  excite  comment  upon  its  endurance,  but  neither 
personal  antics  nor  long  service  ever  won  a  man  genuine 
fame. 

Is  it  a  crime  to  be  respectable?  Is  it  a  crime_to  have 
an  honest  fireside? 

I  never  stole  any  of  my  wives,  neither  were  they  ever 
forced  into  matrimony  —  with  me. 

My  friends  who  have  been  privileged  to  visit-  any 
home  of  mine  will  tell  you  that  it  was  the  abode  of  a 
lady  and  gentleman! 

This  will  jar  my  vilifiers.  I  have  no  right  to  be 
respectable  and  have  a  home.  I  am  a  brawler  and  a 
reveler,  a  drunkard  and  a  gambler.  Maybe.  Yet  with 
all  these  alleged  vagaries  I  fail  to  remember  any  time 
when  I  dined  a  mistress  at  the  same  table  with  my  wife 
and  children  —  an  incident  in  the  career  of  a  most 
conspicuous  member  of  our  profession  who  has  the  repu- 
tation of  being  possessed  of  supreme  chastity.  He 
prefers  marshmallows  to  champagne  —  stick  licorice  to 
Havana  cigars.  He  married  at  the  beginning  of  his 
career  and  is  quite  content  to  stand  pat  —  with  his  head 
in  the  sand. 

I  have  often  wondered  if  these  self-elected  critics  of 
my  actions  would  have  refused  any  of  the  women  whom 
I  have  had  the  privilege  of  marrying! 

Does  it  ever  occur  to  them  that  a  woman  must  first 
be  interested  in  a  man  (in  some  little  degree!)  before 
allowing  him  the  privilege  of  taking  her  hand  in  mar- 
riage? If  she  has  a  brain  she  understands  his  motives 
and  even  if  moved  by  other  reasons  than  that  of  affec- 
tion it  is  still  she  who  decides  to  meet  the  issue. 

The  v/omen  who  married  me  had  the  reputation  of 
being  possessed  of  brain  as  well  as  beauty  and  all  of 
them  had  tasted  the  sweets  of  matrimony  before  I  came 
along.     I  wonder  what  these  ebony-tipped-fmgered  gen- 


264  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

tiemen  who  have  marvelled  at  my  success  in  the  matri- 
monial field  would  say  if  they  were  privileged  to  glance 
at  my  visitors'  book  in  use  at  Jackwood  or  in  my  West 
End  Avenue  home  in  New  York  I  It  would  convince 
them  that  they  never  could  have  passed  the  butler! 

It  has  never  been  chronicled  that  the  heads  of  the 
theatrical  profession  were  my  constant  visitors.  States- 
men, diplomats,  lawyers,  conspicuous  public  men  from 
abroad,  multi-millionaires  (not  forgetting  one  President) 
and  some  of  the  nobihty  have  graced  my  board.  This 
may  have  been  the  reason  why  one  of  the  beautiful 
women  married  me! 

Fancy  any  of  my  critics  writing  that  Lord  had 

visited  me.  Senator  dined  with  me,  Marchioness 

accompanied  me  on  a  hunting  trip!    That  would 

not  be  news  —  it's  too  clean !  But  they  do  cable  to  the 
remotest  corner  of  the  globe  my  presence  at  a  prize 
fight.  That  is  interesting  matter  —  and  news!  How 
considerate  of  the  feelings  of  one's  aged  parents  who  are 
forced  to  bear  the  brunt  of  their  unwholesome  lies! 
How  I  loathe  these  mephitic  hounds  who  burglarize 
men's  firesides,  the  pestilential  pirates  of  women's  homes 
who  invade  the  sanctity  of  loving  hearts,  who  write 
with  pens  steeped  in  venom! 


Wm.  H.  Thompson 

An  artist  to  bis  finger  tips 


I 


Chapter  LX 
BILLY  THOMPSON 


HAT  a  splendid  player  is  William  H. 
Thompson  —  Bill  as  he  is  known  to  his 
friends ! 

I  have  known  him  for  over  thirty  years 
and  have  admired  him  in  many  r6les- 
An  artist  to  his  finger  tips,  he  is  obliged  by 
existing  conditions  to  fritter  away  his  time  in  vaudeville 
instead  of  heading  his  own  company  or  occupying  a 
theatre  as  the  bright  particular  star. 

While  the  Favershams,  Millers  and  Skinners  are 
starring  through  the  country  at  the  head  of  their  own 
companies  this  grand  artist  is  compelled  to  stifle  his 
ambitions  in  playhouses  which  feature  performing 
elephants,  negroes  and  monkeys! 

He  tells  me  he  is  acting  now  only  to  gather  enough 
shekels  to  make  his  passing  down  the  other  side  of  the 
mountain  of  Hfe  be  unincumbered  by  financial  diffi- 
culties. This  is  a  sad  situation  —  an  actor  willing  and 
capable  forced  to  humiliate  himself  while  ignorant 
German  comedians,  song  and  dance  men  and  incom- 
petent leading  men  foster  their  wares  before  a  vacillating 
pubhc. 

Well,  perhaps  things  may  change,  but  I  fear  not  in 
dear  Bill's  day.  The  moving  pictures  reign  supreme! 
Pantomime  seems  to  gratify  the  multitude! 

Let  the  incense  burn  low  and  as  it  disappears  let 
memxories  of  the  work  of  a  master  like  Thompson  cast 

its  shadow  on  the  pathway  of  the  time  to  come! 

265 


Chapter  LXI 

THE  CRITICS 

RAISE  is  the  best  diet  after  all." 

In  an  address  before  the  National 
Press  Club  on  November  17,  1909,  the 
Hon.  Henry  Watterson  had  this  to 
say: 

"Pretending  to  be  the  especial  de- 
fenders of  liberty  we  are  becoming  the  invaders  of 
private  rights.  No  household  seems  any  longer  safe 
against  intrusion.  Our  reporters  are  being  turned  into 
detectives.  As  surely  as  this  is  not  checked,  we  shall 
grow  to  be  the  objects  of  fear  and  hatred,  instead  of 
trust  and  respect." 

"Shall  grow!"  As  if  you  have  not  already  grown, 
decayed  and  gone  to  seed,  once  more  to  be  transplanted 
and  again  born,  to  invade  the  sanctity  of  homes  and 
become  the  invaders  of  private  rights!  "Detectives" 
indeed!     As  a  rule  you  are  not  even  common  cops! 

No  wonder  public  men  look  upon  such  "journalists" 
with  aversion  and  contempt  and  liken  them  to  the  police 
and  the  scavenger!  No  wonder  honest  journalists,  like 
Watterson,  antagonize  such  methods  as  are  employed 
by  the  emissaries  who  represent  the  yellow  journalism  of 
our  delightfully  free  country! 

Very  often  after  reading  one  of  the  vilifying  attacks 
made  upon  me  (for  no  apparent  reason  other  than  to 
vent  the  writer's  spleen  or  for  lack  of  other  material) 
I  have  wondered  what  effect  it  has  had  upon  my  asso- 
ciates, my  audiences  and  my  friends.     It  is  wonderful 

Jiow  little  the  power  of  will  asserts  itself.     Falsehood 

266 


THE  CRITICS  267 

and  scandal  seldom  concern  any  except  those  personally 
negligent.  It  is  a  pity  that  a  critic  who  has  so  much 
power  to  do  good  and  make  happy  the  artist  by  a  few 
kind  words  will  use  the  weapon  of  the  wood  chopper. 
Fortunately  you  cannot  make  or  unmake  the  artist  of 
to-day.  You  may  flaunt  your  accusations  regarding  his 
private  life,  but  after  all  the  good  remains. 

I  honestly  believe  that  a  true  American  man  or 
woman  derives  more  pleasure  from  reading  an  account 
of  the  happy  marriage  of  Ethel  Barrymore  and  the 
delightful  coming  of  her  first  born  than  from  the  lurid 
announcement  that  Mary  Mannering  has  at  last  secured 
her  permanent  release  from  the  bonds  of  her  unhappy 
alliance  with  James  K.  Hackett.  It  has  taken  me  many 
years  to  come  to  this  conclusion,  and  it  was  only  after 
two  years  passed  in  silent  retrospect  among  the  flowers, 
hand  in  hand  with  nature  in  glorious  California,  that  I 
determined  to  don  again  the  sock  and  buskin.  But  I 
went  back  to  my  professional  work  with  a  clearer  con- 
science, a  lighter  heart,  a  determination  to  pay  little 
heed  to  the  scofl'ers  and  a  resolve  to  try  to  make  the 
world  laugh  once  more. 

He  who  rises  above  mediocrity  is  sure  to  incur  the 
envy  and  hatred  of  the  mediocre.  I  am  astounded  that 
I  among  so  many  should  be  selected  as  a  perpetual 
target.  Were  I  as  egotistical  as  some  of  my  critics  say, 
the  published  reports  of  my  vagaries  and  dissipations 
would  have  been  as  Balm  in  Gilead  to  my  immoral 
soul!  But  such  balm  is  far  from  any  desire  of  mine. 
The  unwholesome  notoriety  that  I  received  during  my 
absence  in  Australia  shocked  and  grieved  me  and  had 
it  not  been  for  the  few  good  friends  who  gallantly  came 
to  my  assistance  with  cheery  words  of  encouragement 
my  burden  would  have  been  too  heavy  to  bear. 

With  the  greatest  indignation  I  read  the  truly  aston- 
ishing articles  written  about  me  during  my  exile.     Away 


268  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

from  home  as  we  had  been  for  months  and  always 
looking  forward  eagerly  to  the  arrival  of  the  American 
mail,  it  was  a  shock  indeed  to  be  deluged  with  highly 
sensational  accounts  of  my  divorce  suit,  a  shock  all  the 
more  disagreeable  for  the  wholly  unwarrantable  dragging 
in  of  the  name  of  one  as  completely  ignorant  of  the 
entire  matter  as  any  one  of  you  who  may  read  this. 

For  years  I  have  been  brutally  assailed  by  certain 
members  of  our  press  who  have  dishked  the  color  of 
my  hair  or  the  shape  of  my  nose.  As  I  alone  have  been 
the  victim  of  these  assaults,  I  have  not  wearied  the  pub- 
lic with  constant  denials,  reahzing  the  futihty  of  the 
** apology'*  our  great  dailies  vouchsafe  when  they  are 
proven  to  be  in  the  wrong.  This  generous  "apology" 
may  be  found  in  an  obscure  corner  of  the  paper,  in  very 
small  print,  weeks  after  columns  and  columns  have 
spicily  set  forth  the  details  of  one's  supposed  wrong 
doings.  And  this  is  all  we  get  by  way  of  reparation 
from  our  traducers. 

Here  is  the  article,  written  by  the  Hon.  Henry 
Watterson  in  the  Louisville  "Courier  Journal,"  January 
10,  1895,  to  which  I  have  referred: 

"In  the  course  of  an  interview  with  one  of  our  local 
contemporaries  Mr.  Nat  C.  Goodwin,  the  eminent 
comedian,  takes  occasion  to  correct  some  recent  stories 
circulated  to  his  disadvantage  and  to  protest  against 
that  species  of  journalism  which  seeks  to  enrich  itself 
by  the  heedless  sacrifice  of  private  character. 

"Since  no  one  has  suffered  more  in  this  regard  than 
Mr.  Goodwin  himself  he  has  certainly  the  right  to  speak 
in  his  own  behalf  and  at  the  same  time  he  has  a  claim 
upon  the  consideration  of  a  public  which  owes  so  great 
a  debt  to  his  genius.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  however, 
Mr.  Goodwin  is  just  beginning  to  realize  the  seriousness 
of  life  and  the  importance  of  his  own  relation  to  the  art 
of  which  he  has  long  been  an  unconscious  master. 


THE  CRITICS  269 

"With  an  exuberance  of  talent  rivaled  only  by  his 
buoyancy  of  spirit,  uniting  to  extraordinary  conversa- 
tional resources  a  personal  charm  unequaled  on  or  off 
the  stage,  he  has  scattered  his  benefactions  of  all  kinds 
with  i\  lavish  disregard  of  consequences  and  that  disdain 
for  appearances  which  emanates,  in  his  case,  from  a 
frank  nature,  incapable  of  intentional  wrong  and  uncon- 
scious of  giving  cause  for  evil  report. 

"He  is  still  a  very  young  man,  but  he  has  been  and  is 
a  great,  over-grown  boy;  fearless  and  loyal;  as  open  as 
the  day;  enjoying  the  abundance  which  nature  gave 
him  at  his  birth,  which  his  professional  duties  have 
created  so  profusely  around  about  him  and  seeking  to 
have  others  enjoy  it  with  him.  But,  before  all  else,  it 
ought  to  be  known  by  the  public  that  he  amply  pro- 
vides for  those  having  the  best  claim  upon  his  bounty; 
that  he  is  not  merely  one  of  the  most  generous  of 
friends,  but  one  of  the  most  devoted  of  sons,  and  that 
it  can  be  truly  said  that  no  one  ever  suffered  through 
any  act  of  his. 

"To  a  man  of  so  many  gifts  and  such  real  merits 
the  press  and  the  pubhc  might  be  more  indulgent  even 
if  Mr.  Goodwin  were  as  erratic  as  it  is  sometimes  said 
he  is.  But  he  is  not  so  in  the  sense  sought  to  be 
ascribed  to  him.  He  never  could  have  reached  the 
results,  which  each  season  we  see  re-enforced  by  new 
creations,  except  at  the  cost  of  infinite  painstaking, 
conscientious  toil;  for,  exquisite  and  apparently  spon- 
taneous as  his  art  is,  he  is  pre-eminently  an  intellectual 
actor  and  it  is  preposterous  to  suppose  that  he  has  not 
been  a  thoughtful,  laborious  student,  finding  his  relief 
in  moments  of  relaxation,  which  may  too  often  have 
lapsed  into  unguarded  gayety,  but  which  never  de- 
generated into  vulgarity  or  wantonness.  Indeed  the 
warp  and  woof  of  Mr.  Goodwin's  character  are  wholly 
serious. 


270  .        NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

"He  is  a  most  unaffected,  affectionate  man  and  with 
the  recognition  which  the  world  is  giving  him  as  the 
foremost  comedian  of  his  time,  the  inevitable  and 
natural  successor  to  the  great  Jefferson,  it  is  safe  to 
predict  that  he  will  fall  into  his  place  with  the  ready 
grace  that  sits  upon  all  he  says  and  does. 

"Meanwhile  the  boys  in  the  City  Editor's  Room 
ought  to  use  more  blue  and  less  red  in  pencilling  the 
coming  and  going  of  one  so  brilliant  and  so  gentle  and, 
in  all  that  they  have  a  right  to  take  note  of,  so  un- 
offending." 

God  bless  you,  Marse  Henry! 

The  avidity  with  which  the  average  penny-a-liners 
scent  failure  is  only  equaled  by  the  blatant  exposition 
of  their  reviews.  They  are  like  a  lot  of  sheep  huddled 
together,  vainly  endeavoring  to  emerge  from  the  per- 
fume of  their  own  manure  to  flaunt  their  individual 
opinions  before  the  garrulous  public  which  itself  is  only 
too  willing  to  proclaim  "the  king  is  dead!" 

Senator  Arthur  Pugh  Gorman  once  told  me  that 
failures  were  a  good  remedy  for  success  and  brought 
people  to  a  realization  of  their  own  unimportance. 
Granted,  if  failure  were  individual,  but  as  failure  does 
not  as  a  rule  affect  only  one's  self  it  is  hard  to  administer 
the  doses  of  the  plural  to  mitigate  the  humiliation  of 
the  singular. 

Has  it  ever  occurred  to  the  average  critic  that  when  a 
play  fails  not  only  the  author  and  the  leading  artist 
are  submerged  in  the  vortex  of  despair,  but  all  the 
tributaries  of  the  enterprise  go  down  with  the  ship? 
But  what  do  they  care  —  when  many  of  the  successful 
actors  proclaim  to  the  world  that  they  enjoy  their 
"art"  —  succeeding  or  failing!  —  and  respect  the  re- 
viewers of  their  work?  I  regret  that  many  of  them  are 
only  too  willing  to  assist  the  critics  in  tearing  down  the 
structure  of  the  successful  player. 


THE  CRITICS  271 

Some  time  ago  I  had  a  long  talk  with  a  comedian, 
short  and  very  funny,  on  and  off  the  stage.  He  is  a 
true  artist,  a  wit,  gentle  in  his  methods  and  a  truly 
legitimate  comedian.  He  was  complaining  of  the  exist- 
ing conditions  of  the  stage  and  assured  me  that  it  was 
only  the  lack  of  funds  which  compelled  him  to  remain 
upon  the  boards  to  make  the  pubhc  laugh;  that  he  was 
praying  for  the  time  when  he  could  forget  his  gifts  and 
leave  the  stage  forever. 

The  little  chap  has  worked  hke  a  galley  slave  for 
years.  I  know  of  one  period  in  his  career  when  he 
produced  three  consecutive  failures  in  an  equal  number 
of  weeks  in  a  New  York  theatre;  produced  them  and 
incurred  all  the  risks  —  and  finally  landed  the  fourth  a 
winner.  He  is  constantly  producing  new  material  and 
to-day  a  New  York  playhouse  displays  an  electric  sign 
which  spells  his  name.  Yet  he  desires  to  leave  the  stage 
forever!  Of  course,  he  does!  What  honest  actor  does 
not? 

Another  artist,  a  friend  of  mine  who  has  played  to 
the  largest  receipts  ever  known  in  the  history  of  the 
stage,  told  me  recently  that  he  was  going  to  give  it  up, 
imparting  to  me  the  fact  that  he  could  no  longer  stand 
the  humihation  and  the  heartaches  he  was  forced  to 
endure! 

The  attitude  of  these  gifted  players  is  as  an  oasis  in 
the  desert  of  incompetency  and  convinces  me  that 
irrespective  of  the  type  that  spells  inadequacy  and 
commercial  success  for  a  few  of  the  ephemeral  stars 
there  are  some  self-respecting  actors  left  who  refuse  to 
accompany  these  unworthy  disciples  down  the  narrow 
path  that  must  lead  to  an  eventual  echpse. 

What  an  unthinking  person  is  the  average  front-of- 
the-curtain  speech  maker!  Fancy  thanking  an  audience 
for  the  privilege  of  entertaining  it!  It  has  ahvays 
struck  me  as  being  ludicrous.     But   I   can  sj^mpathize 


272  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

with  an  actor  thanking  an  audience  for  sitting  out  a 
failure! 

I  believe  it  was  Charles  Lamb  or  someone  equally 
clever  who  remarked,  "Apprentices  are  required  for 
every  trade,  save  that  of  critic;   he  is  ready-made." 

How  true! 

Critics  —  what  a  queer  lot!  —  are  generally  foes  to 
art  —  from  Dr.  Johnson  down  to  those  of  the  present 
day.  Seldom  sponsors,  always  antagonistic,  jealous  and 
even  venomous,  they  are  eager  to  tear  down  citadels  of 
honest  thought  and  houses  of  worthy  purpose!  They 
remain  hostile  until  the  continued  success  of  their  victim 
compels  a  truce.  And  how  cravenly  they  acknowledge 
defeat!  Like  the  shot  coyote  they  will  only  fight  when 
wounded. 

The  reviewer  of  a  prize  fight  will  comment  upon  a 
picture;   criticize  sculpture,  hterature,  acting! 

Why  should  the  average  critic  know  anything  about 
acting  when  his  horizon  does  not  extend  beyond  the  ill- 
ventilated  room  containing  his  trunk  filled  with  the 
manuscripts  which  he  has  not  succeeded  in  having 
produced?  Conscious  of  the  revenues  of  the  successful 
playwrights  of  the  day  he  criticizes  with  venom  in  his 
drab  heart  and  vitriol  in  his  ink-bottle!  No  wonder  he 
enjoys  storming  the  forts  of  prosperity! 

But  what  gets  on  my  nerves  is  the  attention  given 
some  of  these  penny-a-liners  by  the  average  American 
manager-producer  who  cull  the  complimentary  expres- 
sions of  these  incompetents  and  print  them  conspicu- 
ously upon  their  posters.  To  add  further  insult  to  the 
honest  player  most  of  the  yellow  journals  photograph 
these  critics,  heading  the  columns  of  their  uninstructive 
matter  with  their  faces! 

Shades  of  Lamb,  Hazhtt,  and  George  Henry  Lewes  I 

I  wonder  how  many  readers  cut  out  the  pictures  of 
those  little  cherubs,  "Alan  Dale'*  and  "Vance"  Thomp- 


THE  CRITICS  273 

son,  and  paste  them  in  their  scrap  books?  I  utilized 
their  pictures  beautifying  (!)  two  cuspidors  in  my  home 
—  and  they  are  always  in  constant  use! 

My  antagonism  to  the  critics  is  not  sweeping.  I  have 
the  most  supreme  respect  for  the  memory  of  such  critics 
as  the  late  Mr.  Clapp  of  Boston,  Mr.  McPhelim  of 
Chicago,  Clement  Scott  and  Joseph  Knight  of  London, 
Mr.  Wiliard  of  Providence,  "Brick"  Pomeroy,  Joseph 
Bradford  and  Frank  Hatton.  I  have  the  same  regard 
for  some  of  the  living  critics  including,  the  Hon.  Henry 
Watterson,  Arthur  Warren,  James  O'Donnell  Bennett, 
Philip  Hale,  Blakely  Hall,  Amy  Leslie,  George  Goodale, 
Ashton  Stevens,  Lyman  P.  Glover,  Lawrence  Reamer, 
Elwyn  Barron,  Stilson  Hutchins,  Marion  Reedy  and 
many  others.  These  gentlemen  know  whereof  they 
write  and  never  allow  personalities  to  enter  their  critical 
views.  But  for  those  effeminate,  puerile,  sycophantic, 
dogmatic  parasites  who  live  from  hand  to  mouth,  who 
bite  the  hands  that  feed  them,  whose  exposed  palms  are 
always  in  evidence  (to  receive  the  stipends  that  warp 
their  supposed  knowledge  of  the  art)  —  I  have  an  equal 
amount  of  disgust. 

"Alan  Dale"  whose  real  name  is  Cohen  called  on  me 
some  years  ago  in  Paris  with  instructions  from  his 
master,  Mr.  Hearst,  to  interview  me. 

I  sent  my  servant  to  tell  him  to  come  up  and  arranged 
the  furniture  for  his  reception  (I  did  not  care  to  pay  for 
breakage  and  I  was  afraid  his  thick  skull  might  destroy 
some  of  the  bric-a-brac  if  he  fell  where  I  intended  he 
should  fall!).  I  set  the  scene  for  him,  but  when  he 
entered  and  I  contemplated  this  little,  self-opinionated, 
arrogant,  subservient,  and  grovelling  person  I  asked 
myself  "What's  the  use?"  —  gave  him  an  interview  and 
dismissed  him. 

I  felt  only  pity  for  the  poor,  little,  puny  hireling! 

(Since  the  above   was  penned   I   have  read   a   most 


274  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

complimentary  criticism  of  my  Fagin  in  "Oliver  Twist" 
written  by  "Alan  Dale."  Consequently  the  above 
remarks  "don't  go!") 

An  astute  gentleman  on  one  of  the  Chicago  papers, 
gushing  over  "the  great  art  of  Mr.  John  Hare"  as  old 
Eccles  in  "Caste,"  wrote: 

"What  a  remarkable  metamorphosis  it  was  to  see  Mr. 
Hare,  the  quiet,  dignified  man  of  the  world,  in  his 
dressing-room  discussing  his  profession  when,  a  few 
moments  before,  he  had  been  depicting  the  drunken 
sot  with  shaggy  eyebrows,  dishevelled  hair,  unkempt 
beard  and  filthy  clothes!" 

This  he  considered  the  art  of  acting.  I  call  it  the  art 
of  make-up.  He  further  annoyed  me  by  saying,  "This 
should  be  a  lesson  to  some  of  our  comedians,  who  fancy 
themselves  actors,  who  simply  come  on  the  stage,  speak 
fat  hnes  and  have  only  to  appear  naturaL" 

"Only  to  appear  natural!"  I  happen  to  know  the 
critic  who  wrote  the  above  article.  He  is  a  remarkably 
graceful  man  and  a  most  proficient  golf  player.  Now 
taking  him  at  his  word  I  should  like  to  place  that 
gentleman  in  a  conspicuous  place  on  my  stage,  in  even- 
ing dress,  and  have  him  rise,  walk  across  the  stage,  ask 
the  servant  to  assist  him  on  with  his  coat,  bid  the  other 
characters  good  night  and  make  an  exit.  He  would, 
I  am  sure,  cease  chiding  any  actor  for  being  "natural." 
It  is  far  easier  to  be  somebody  else  on  the  stage,  with 
the  aid  of  wig  and  grease  paint,  than  to  appear  as  one's 
self. 

No  one  fails  to  recognize  Bernhardt  or  Duse.  Neither 
did  Booth  nor  Forrest  sink  his  individuahty  or  hide  his 
face,  hke  the  ancient  Greeks,  behind  a  mask.  I'll  wager 
that  if  Mr.  Hare  had  been  an  American  the  hound 
would  have  objected  to  the  Hare's  disguise! 

One  of  the  most  natural  actors  whom  I  ever  saw  on 
any  stage  and  who  never  by  any  possible  chance  en- 


THE  CRITICS  275 

deavored  to  destroy  his  identity  was  William  Warren. 
He  was  and  is  considered  by  the  elect  the  finest  come- 
dian that  American  has  ever  produced.  I  wish  my  golf 
player  could  have  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  seeing  that 
grand  old  man  play  Eccles! 

Every  great  actor  that  we  have  sent  abroad  for  the 
past  fifty  years  has  signally  failed  (with  one  single 
exception  and  he  assured  me  that  his  largest  house  was 
a  trifle  over  S600  and  he  had  a  play  written  or  rather 
re-written  by  one  of  the  most  popular  of  English 
authors).  With  three  exceptions  no  one  has  ever  failed, 
man  or  woman,  who  has  come  to  us  from  foreign 
shores. 

It  is  "the  thing"  to  applaud  the  efforts  of  ah  Euro- 
pean actors.  It  is  far  diff'erent  in  England.  I  am  cer- 
tain there  is  no  prevailing  antagonism  because  of  the 
fact  that  we  are  Americans,  but  the  public  as  a  rule 
does  not  understand  our  methods  and  is  quite  content 
with  its  own.  I  only  wish  that  we  could  absorb  its 
temperament.  It  does  get  on  my  nerves,  though,  when 
shiploads  of  English  actors  visit  America,  simply  to 
enable  them  to  replenish  their  impoverished  bank 
accounts  at  home. 

How  long  will  it  last? 

I  wonder! 

However,  when  any  foreigner  visits  our  country  with 
a  determination  to  make  it  his  permanent  abode  and 
does  so  I  always  wish  him  wefl.  Take  for  instance 
Edward  H.  Sothern.  If  ever  a  man  deserved  the  posi- 
tion he  has  attained  Sothern  does,  if  only  for  his  energy 
and  tenacity  of  purpose. 

Of  course,  in  any  other  country  than  America,  he 
could  never  have  succeeded. 

Even  in  this  country,  surrounded  as  he  is  by  an  over 
production  of  filth,  to  make  Shakespeare  a  paying  in- 
vestment is  an  achievem.ent  of  which  to  be  proud. 


276  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

I  am  not  airing  any  opinion  of  his  artistic  work,  as  I 
have  been  privileged  to  witness  only  his  performance 
of  "Hamlet."  I  have  also  seen  Charles  Fechter,  E.  L. 
Davenport  and  Edwin  Booth  as  the  Dane,  which  nat- 
urally prejudices  me  in  my  criticism  of  Sothern's  per- 
formance! But  any  man  who  has  the  courage  to 
announce  his  intention  of  playing  "Macbeth"  for  one 
week  (and  does  it!)  deserves  a  place  in  the  Hall  of 
Fame! 

Mr.  Sothern  deserves  the  congratulations  of  the 
American  public  —  for  getting  away  with  it! 

And  for  all  I've  written  in  this  chapter  I  must  confess 
that  — 

Observation  makes  critics  of  us  all! 

Also  — 

While  I  have  confined  my  attention  to  the  so-called 
critics  I  have  not  forgotten  that  there  are  other  men 
engaged  in  the  newspaper  business  and  of  these  — 

The  average  reporter  reminds  me  of  the  little  boy 
with  a  pea  shooter.  He  bears  malice  towards  no  one  in 
particular  but  —  he's  got  a  pea  shooter! 


aH! 


Chapter  LXII 
JAMES  A.   HEARNE 


r  the  time  James  A.  Hearne  gave  me  the 
photograph  which  accompanies  this  chap- 
ter he  was  one  of  the  best  actors,  if  not 
the  best  actor  who  spoke  any  language 
—  in  my  estimation.  He  was  then  well 
into  the  fifties  and  for  two  score  years 
had  run  the  gamut  from  Bill  Sykes  (and  he  was  king  in 
that  role)  to  the  tender  Nathan'I  in  that  best  of  Ameri- 
can plays,  "Shore  Acres." 

The  reproduction  of  the  inscription  which  Hearne 
wrote  on  the  back  of  his  photograph  shows  that  the  old 
gentleman  was  not  without  a  keen  sense  of  humor. 

I  knew  him  all  my  stage  life  and  in  my  eyes  he  was 
always  a  most  wonderful  person.  In  his  early  days  he 
was  prone  to  much  dissipation,  even  to  ruffianism;  but 
he  always  drank  and  fought  before  the  world.  He  was 
honest  even  when  violently  inclined.  He  never  sneaked 
up  back  alleys  to  fight  a  foe,  but  met  him  in  the  open — 
no  hiring  of  rooms  in  which  to  get  drunk  but  at  the 
open  door  where  all  could  see  him.  And  even  in  those 
days  everybody  loved  the  man. 

In  his  later  life  he  used  his  great  mentafity  and  be- 
came a  real  man,  a  beatific  creature. 
He  married  three  times. 

His  first  wife  was  the  distinguished  Lucille  Western, 
a  most  wonderful  natural,  emotional  actress.  It  is  said 
she  has  made  more  money  in  a  single  season  than  any 
Other   star    of   any    time.     Her    first    husband,    James 

277 


278  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

Meade,  a  New  York  gambler,  told  me  he  handed  her 
personally  more  than  $600,000  in  forty-two  weeks!  This 
was  during  the  Civil  War. 

And  she  died  in  poverty! 

Herself  a  spendthrift,  she  was  ably  assisted  in  dissipat- 
ing her  fortune  by  both  Meade  and  Hearne.  Her  death 
followed  her  marriage  to  WiHiam  Whalley,  a  ne'er-do- 
well  but  clever  actor  and  at  that  time  a  great  Bowery 
favorite. 

After  Lucille's  death  Hearne  married  her  sister  Helen, 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  women  ever  born.  They  were 
very  unhappy  and  a  divorce  speedily  ended  their  union. 

From  this  time  Hearne*s  career  showed  a  marked 
change.     He  died  nearly  a  Christian! 

Behind  him  he  left  his  third  wife,  a  most  brilliant, 
clever  woman  who  helped  to  bring  about  his  regenera- 
tion, several  successful  plays  and  two  talented  daughters, 
Juhe  and  Chrystal  Hearne. 


It  is  just  as  natural  for  two  human  beings,  brought 
constantly  in  contact  with  each  other,  to  mate  as  it  is 
for  birds  and  animals. 


A  man  of  genius,  if  he  marries  at  all,  should  marry  a 
peasant. 


^^B          #>- 

^B 

p^^^cw^ 

K^^^^^^^^^^^^^    # .  ^^01^^^^^ 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^.               ^^^^^K'                ^^^^^^^^^^^ 

H^^^^^^^^^^H^'^lL  ^^B 

^^^22f 

James  A.  Hearne 

He  knew  how  poor  Sol  "fell" 


7    Ai,^     'V''">^  7'>-    ^x!^ 


<^^-c..I^ 


^^^^    /i^/^ 


<2_^^^i--^^Zi>-v->^ 


I 


Chapter  LXIII 

EDDIE  FOY 

ANCY  a  man*s  being  father  of  six  or 
seven  or  eight  children  —  and  then 
adopting  an  additional  brace!  What  a 
heart,  what  a  great,  big,  fine  heart  has 
a  man  hke  that! 
And  this  is  what  Eddie  Foy  has  done. 
Eddie  Foy  is  a  unique  character  in  the  American 
drama.  Aside  from  his  prowess  as  a  disciple  of  that 
theory  which  measures  patriotism  by  infants  he  is  the 
greatest  clown  our  stage  has  ever  known.  And  he  takes 
his  clowning  very  seriously. 

I  always  like  to  hear  Eddie  Foy  talk.  I  enjoy  being 
with  him.     He  is  a  true  comedian. 

It  happened  I  was  his  fellow  voyager  on  his  first 
passage  across  the  Atlantic.  He  was  on  his  way  to  meet 
his  bride,  an  Itahan  woman.  (Fancy  my  listening  to 
rhapsodies  about  a  bride  —  not  my  own!) 

They  are  a  numerous  family  —  and  as  happy  as  num- 
erous. He  is  a  most  generous  and  home-loving  person 
for  all  his  fondness  for  his  clubs. 

I  love  to  hear  him  talk  about  playing  Hamlet. 
He  really  thinks  he  can! 
Perhaps  he's  right. 
I  wonder. 


279 


Chapter  LXIV 
WILLIAM  GILLETTE 


gt...,  •-.-»- 

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WAS  standing,  many  years  ago,  in  the 
lobby  of  the  Parker  House,  Boston, 
speaking  to  the  late  Louis  Aldrich,  an 
old  and  esteemed  friend  of  mine,  who 
had  just  made  a  tremendous  success  in 
a  play  written  by  the  late  Bartley 
Campbell,  called  "My  Partner,"  when  a  gaunt,  thin  and 
anaemic  person  suddenly  approached  us  and  grasping 
Louis  by  the  arm  said,  **I  saw  your  play  last  night, 
great  house,  splendid  performance,  bad  play,"  and  left 
us  as  quickly  as  he  came.  "Who  is  that  chap?"  I 
asked.  —  "Oh,  he  is  a  young  crank,"  said  Aldrich,  "who 
has  written  a  play  he  wants  me  to  produce  called 
*The  Professor,'  not  a  bad  play,  but  he  insists  upon 
playing  the  leading  role."  "He  looks  more  like  a  chemist 
than  an  actor,"  I  replied. 

Several  years  after  I  was  negotiating  with  the  late 
A.  M.  Palmer,  to  produce  a  play  called  "The  Private 
Secretary,"  but,  unfortunately,  strolling  into  the  Boston 
Museum  pending  the  negotiations,  I  witnessed  an 
adaptation  of  "The  Private  Secretary,"  taken  from  the 
German  I  believe,  called  "Nunky,"  excellently  played 
by  the  Stock  Company.  Having  four  weeks  booking  at 
the  Park  Theatre  in  Boston  the  ensuing  season,  where  I 
intended  playing  "The  Private  Secretary,"  if  my  nego- 
tiations with  Palmer  proved  successful,  I  called  every- 
thing off,  as  I  did  not  desire  to  enter  into  competition 

with  Ian  Robertson,  who  was  scoring  immensely  in  the 

280 


WILLIAM  GILLETTE  281 

character  of    **Tlie    Private  Secretary,"  which    I    con- 
templated doing. 

Shortly  after  Palmer  secured  an  injunction  against 
"Nunky/*  and  I  witnessed  the  performance  of  "The 
Private  Secretary,"  at  the  Madison  Square  Theatre  in 
New  York,  to  a  packed  house,  and  the  so-called  crank  I 
had  previously  met  with  Aldrich  at  the  Parker  House, 
in  Boston,  was  playing  the  leading  r6le.  His  name 
was  William  Gillette. 

William  is  a  very  quaint  person,  and  even  to  this  day, 
many  people  call  him  a  crank.  He  may  be  eccentric, 
all  geniuses  are,  but  he  is  a  very  able  man,  one  of  the 
best  American  dramatists,  and  a  most  excellent  actor, 
particularly  when  playing  the  hero  of  one  of  his  own 
plays.  He  has  no  natural  repose  and  is  possessed  of 
very  little  magnetism.  He  certainly  has  a  personality 
however  and  has  solved  the  problem  of  standing  still  like 
the  center  pole  of  a  merry-go-around  in  all  his  plays, 
successfully  contriving  to  arrange  his  scenes  so  that  his 
characters  rush  around  him,  while  he  stands  motionless 
in  the  center,  giving  the  impression  of  great  repose. 
This  is  a  splendid  trick  but  only  permissible  to  actors 
who  pay  themselves  their  own  author's  fees. 

I  once  saw  Gillette  play  a  character  I  had  previously 
seen  Guitry  perform  in  Paris,  and  I  must  confess  that 
Gillette  suffered  by  comparison.  In  this  play  he  had  to 
move  and  he  proved  he  was  no  sprinter.  An  English 
critic,  a  friend  of  mine  who  had  witnessed  the  perform- 
ance of  Gillette  in  "Too  Much  Johnson"  and  "Held  by 
the  Enemy"  remarked,  "This  man  Gillette  is  a  most 
confusing  person.  If  I  did  not  know  the  plot  of  his 
plays,  I  could  not  tell  whether  he  was  playing  the 
villain  or  hero." 

I  do  not  know  if  Gillette  ever  realized  his  limitations, 
but  I  fancy  he  did,  for  he  succeeded  unquestionably  in 
cultivating  a  pose,  an  air  of,  'please  don't  approach  me, 


282  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

I  am  too  much  absorbed,'  etc.  I  have  seen  him  enter  a 
drawing  room  in  London,  and  by  his  presence  stop  all 
conversation.  Apparently  oblivious  to  his  surroundings, 
he  would  enter,  stop  at  the  door,  locate  his  host  or 
hostess,  say  a  few  epigrammatic  things  in  a  hard  rasping 
nasal  voice,  acknowledge  the  presence  of  a  few  friends  by 
a  casual  nod  and  quickly  take  his  leave.  The  conversation 
for  the  next  hour  would  be  devoted  to  the  man  who  had 
entered  and  left  so  unceremoniously.  "What  an  eccen- 
tric person,"  "how  unique,"  "what  personahty,"  "splen- 
did presence,"  would  be  heard  from  all  sides. 

This  pose,  eccentricity,  or  whatever  you  call  it,  may 
be  assumed  or  natural,  I  do  not  know  which,  but  it  is 
effective  if  you  can  get  away  with  it.  Mansfield  did  it 
successfully,  Barrett  and  Arnold  Daly  tried  it  and  failed, 
Booth  had  the  gift. 

Perhaps  the  cause  of  Gillette's  eccentricity  is  his  liver, 
a  successful  man  with  a  poor  digestion  can  do  most 
anything  out  of  the  ordinary,  if  he  has  courage  and 
money.  The  rush  of  blood  to  the  head  causing  a  twitch- 
ing of  the  lips  when  observed,  may  mean  to  the  on- 
looker the  concentration  of  thought;  a  scowl  brought 
about  by  a  pain  in  the  abdominal  cavity  may  suggest 
the  villain  of  the  yet  to  be  born  play  contemplating  the 
ruin  of  the  heroine,  and  there  you  are.  Every  act, 
every  suggestion,  every  attitude  of  the  successful  author 
or  actor  has  a  hidden  meaning. 

The  gyrations  of  the  successful  Gillette  proved  so 
effective,  I  am  told,  that  he  has  invested  part  of  his 
fortune  in  a  headache  powder. 

I  have  known  Mr.  Gillette,  thirty  years,  not  inti- 
mately; there  are  few  who  enjoy  that  privilege.  He  is 
a  reticent  person,  very  difficult  to  fathom,  easy  of 
manner,  courteous  and  refined,  a  gentleman  at  all  times, 
splendid  playwright,  a  fine  exponent  of  character  in  all 
his  plays,  and  a  man  of  whom  America  should  be  proud. 


Chapter  LXV 
WILLIAM  BRADY,   ESQ. 


fROM  a  vendor  of  peanuts  on  the  South- 
ern Pacific  Railroad,  to  the  owner  of  two 
New  York  playhouses,  and  the  manager 
of  more  than  a  dozen  theatrical  enter- 
prises in  twenty-five  years,  is  the  history 
of  **Biir'  Brady,  the  man  who  made 
James  Corbett  the  champion  pugilist  of  the  world. 

Brady  is  a  man  with  the  courage  of  his  own  convic- 
tions. He  will  stand  by  any  production  he  finances  in 
the  face  of  overwhelming  defeat,  and  cease  to  present 
it  only  when  the  managers  refuse  to  give  him  time.  No 
matter  what  the  box  office  returns  are,  the  play  remains 
on  if  Brady  fancies  it. 

He  is  an  excellent  judge  of  untried  plays  and  seldom 
produces  a  failure.  Being  a  very  good  actor,  irrespec- 
tive of  his  managerial  capacity,  he  will  jump  in  and 
play  any  part  at  a  moment's  notice  if  necessary.  He 
has  done  this  many  times  during  his  career  and  thus 
saved  the  closing  of  the  theatre. 

His  married  hfe  is  most  happy,  Grace  George  and  two 
splendid  children,  together  with  a  charming  residence  on 
Riverside  Drive,  New  York,  make  a  peaceful  fireside 
and  a  haven  for  the  tired  "Billie,"  when  worn  out  by 
worries  of  office  life  and  travel. 

We  have  been  friends  for  many  years  and  I  always 
enjoy  his  society  immensely. 

May  good  luck  and  well  deserved  success  attend  you, 

William  Brady,  Esq. 

283 


Chapter  LXVI 


pJM1IiIllllllll!llllll|li 

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m 

P 

M 

iTiyiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiy 

r 

ROBERT  FORD 

L|  HAVE  as  little  patience  with  the  theory 

that  one's  character  is  patently  defined 

in  one's  physiognomy  as  with  that  other 

sophism  concerning  the  leaking  out  of 

truth  as  wine  **  leaks  in."     Look  at  the 

accompanying     photograph.     Is      there 

anything  in  that  frank,  boyish  countenance  which  even 

suggests  a  cold  blooded,  conscienceless  m.urderer?     Yet 

the  young  gentleman  was  not  only  a  murderer,  he  was 

that  most  despicable  of  human  hounds  —  the  betrayer 

of  his  friend. 

It  was  one  night  many  years  ago  in  Kansas  City,  in  a 

pool  parlor  to   be  exact,   that   I   first  saw  this  young 

scoundrel.     I  was  playing  pool  with  a  stranger  who  had 

been  introduced  as  "Mr.  Hunter."     My  attention  was 

directed  toward  the  boy  by  the  singular  behavior  of  my 

friendly  antagonist.     No  matter  where  "Mr.   Hunter" 

had  to  go  around  the  table  to  make  a  shot  he  never 

allowed   his   back   to   be  turned   toward   the  door   nor 

toward  the  young  man  who  sat  peacefully  in  one  corner 

of  the  smoke-filled  room  and  gazed  benignly,  if  steadily, 

at  "Mr.  Hunter."     Intuitively  I  knew  questions  would 

not  be  welcomed  and  I  stilled  my  curiosity. 

The  next  day  I  joined  the  throngs  which  travelled  over 

to  St.  Joe  to  see  the  remains  of  the  notorious  Jesse 

James  who  had  been  shot  dead  in  his  own  home.    There, 

lying  on  a  bed,  was  all  that  was  left  of  my  "Mr.  Hunter!" 

Two  weeks  later  in  a  Turkish  bath  I  recognized  my 

084 


Robert  Ford 

"A  cold-blooded,  conscienceless  murderer  ' 


ROBERT  FORD  285 

young  gentleman  of  the  pool  parlor.  He  was  not  averse 
to  talking  and  presently  informed  me  that  he  was 
Robert  Ford,  murderer  of  Jesse  James.  This  explana- 
tion followed  my  expression  of  surprise  on  discovering 
that  he  had  a  villainous-looking  revolver  in  his  hand  — 
in  the  steam  room!  He  explained  his  life  was  not  worth 
a  cent  because  of  his  murder  of  James  and  he  was 
taking  no  chances  of  being  caught  unarmed. 

We  chatted  for  two  hours  —  agreeably!  After  a  bit 
he  told  me  all  about  his  life  with  Jesse  James  —  how 
he  had  been  befriended  by  the  bandit.  Casually  he 
described  the  killing  and  laughed  as  if  it  were  a  great 
joke  that  he  had  had  to  wait  eighteen  months  for  James 
to  turn  his  back  toward  him! 

"That  is,"  he  added,  "long  enough  for  me  to  get  out 
my  gun  and  kill  him." 

He  admitted  readily  that  had  it  not  been  for  the  fact 
that  James  grew  to  have  a  positive  affection  for  and 
belief  in  him  he  never  would  have  succeeded  in  his 
murderous  scheme. 

"But  finally,"  he  concluded  laughingly,  "he  fell  for 
me  —  whole  —  and  I  got  my  chance." 

I  asked  him  how  he  could  bring  himself  to  do  such  a 
foul  murder. 

"Well,"  he  replied  thoughtfully,  as  if  wishing  to  be 
literally  truthful,  "the  Governor  offered  a  reward  for 
him  dead  or  alive  —  and  I  needed  ^he  money." 

Not  excepting  even  Benedict  Arnold  this  boy  was  the 
most  universally  despised  individual  this  country  ever 
produced.  He  drifted  further  West  after  the  murder 
and  became  one  of  the  most  desperate  characters  those 
lawless  days  ever  knew.  He  met  his  end  in  a  bar  room 
in  Cripple  Creek.  That  time  he  tried  to  shoot  a  man 
whose  back  was  not  turned! 

Yet  what  physiognomist  could  read  in  this  boyish  face 
such  dastardy  as  Robert  Ford  delighted  in? 


Chapter  LXVII 
MORE   PLAYS 


F  George  Broadhurst  had  not  promised 
me  the  first  call  on  his  play  "Bought 
and  Paid  For"  I  should  have  been  saved 
another  failure.  It  was  on  the  strength 
of  his  promise  that  I  should  be  the  first 
to  read  the  manuscript  of  what  was 
destined  to  become  his  biggest  money-making  success 
that  I  agreed  to  produce  "The  Captain."  I  kept  my 
agreement  and  scored  up  against  myself  a  costly  fizzle. 
Broadhurst  broke  his  word  —  and  I  never  saw  "Bought 
and  Paid  For"  until  I  bought  and  paid  for  a  seat! 

And  this  in  face  of  the  fact  that  Broadhurst  spent 
most  of  his  time  with  me  at  my  house  on  the  beach  in 
Cahfornia  while  he  was  working  out  the  plot  of  the 
play!  (And  I  later  discovered  he  had  not  refused  to 
take  advantage  of  at  least  one  of  my  freely  offered  sug- 
gestions —  to  make  the  biggest  chmactic  moment  of  the 
action!)"; 

Failures  were  becoming  not  only  frequent,  they  were 
getting  to  be  a  habit! 

"A  Native  Son"  was  my  next  venture.  It  was  writ- 
ten by  James  Montgomery,  author  of  "Ready  Money," 
and  it  was  as  perfect  a  failure  as  "Ready  Money"  was  a 
success!  It  was  an  awful  thing.  I  wonder  that  I  ever 
produced  it. 

At  last  I  had  had  my  fill  of  trying  to  discover  the 
great  American  play  —  and  headed  for  my  Cahfornia 
home  to  rest  —  and  think! 

286 


MORE    PLAYS  287 

That  period  didn't  last  long.     It  never  has. 

Presently  George  C.  Tyler  (who  is  Lieblcr  &  Company) 
got  in  touch  with  me,  the  outcome  of  it  being  that  I 
signed  a  three-years'  contract  with  him  on  the  under- 
standing that  I  should  get  as  my  first  vehicle  under  his 
management  an  original  play  by  Booth  Tarkington. 

In  due  course  Tarkington  completed  "Cameo  Kirby.'* 
In  my  thirty-nine  years  of  experience  on  the  stage  I 
never  played  a  character  I  hked  so  well  as  this  dehght- 
ful,  urbane,  Southern  gentleman-gambler.  I  gave  him  a 
Southern  dialect  and  the  production  all  the  touches  of 
the  real  South  of  that  early  era  I  could  invent.  The 
audiences  seemed  to  Kke  my  interpretation;  but  the 
press  was  divided.  Sensing  what  would  happen  to  me 
in  New  York  I  refused  to  go  into  that  city  and  sur- 
rendered the  role  to  Mr.  Dustin  Farnum. 

With  Farnum  in  the  title  role  '* Cameo  Kirby"  failed 
in  New  York  exactly  as  I  had  it  predicted.  Farnum 
made  a  success  with  the  play  on  the  road,  however.  His 
youth,  beauty  and  simple  dehvery  were  the  opposites 
of  my  characterization  —  and  he  succeeded  where  I 
failed ! 

I  was  dehghted  to  hear  of  Dustin's  success.  I  am 
very  fond  of  him  and  of  his  brother  Bill  and  I  consider 
them  both  excellent  players. 


Chapter  LXVIII 

WILLIE  COLLIER 

HAT  a  quaint,  clever,  original  comedian 
is  Willie  Collier! 

He  is  as  companionable  with  those  he 
likes  as  are  flowers  in  a  meadow.     His 
meadow  is  very  limited,  however,  as  he 
likes   but   few.     He    believes,    as    I    do, 
that  the  environment  of  friends  should  be  narrow. 

Willie  insists  upon  being  addressed  as  William  by  the 
majority.  Only  the  few,  among  whom  I  am  a  privileged 
member,  may  call  him  Willie! 

His  wit  scintillates  like  forked  lightning  and  he 
possesses  sarcasm  equal  to  that  of  a  Douglas  Jerrold. 
Many  authors  can  attribute  "their"  success  to  Willie's 
wit.  His  personality  off"  the  stage  is  rather  stern  for  a 
comedian  —  in  the  opinion  of  the  majority.  But  his 
acting  has  conquered  three  countries  —  America,  Aus- 
tralia and  England! 

I  could  fiH  pages  with  his  wit,  but  the  one  first  to 
come  to  my  mind  must  suffice. 

For  some  reason  Willie  dishkes  the  Players  Club. 
(Perhaps  it  is  because  one  sees  so  few  actors  there!) 
It  was  during  the  first  aff-star  gambol  of  the  Lambs  Club 
that  Wiffie  sprang  a  Joke  at  the  Players'  expense  —  a 
joke  that  has  since  come  to  be  a  classic. 

We  travelled  palatiaHy  on  this  Lambs  tour,  in  fine, 
private  cars,  magnificently  fitted,  and  with  our  every 
comfort  catered  to.     As  we  were  puffing  out  of  Syracuse 

in   our   train   de   luxe,  a   dingy   engine   puffing   a   dirty 

288 


WILLIE  COLLIER  289 

caboose  passed  us  on  the  other  track.  We  were  at 
dinner.  Willie  wiped  his  lips  with  his  napkin  and 
remarked  quietly: 

"Boys,  there  goes  the  Players  Club  back  to  New 
York." 

I  have  known  him  for  more  than  twenty  years.  His 
late  partner,  Charlie  Reed,  was  as  dear  to  me  as  Willie 
is.  We  three  had  many  good  times.  Poor  Charlie 
passed  away  years  ago  and  Willie,  left  alone,  has 
struggled  bravely  to  earn  his  now  well-merited  success. 

I  have  known  him  to  produce  three  successive  failures 
in  as  many  weeks  —  and  come  forth  smiling! 

After  the  second  failure  I  suggested  that  he  come 
down  to  the  footlights  the  night  of  his  third  premiere 
and  salute  his  audience  with,  "Well,  here  I  am  again.*' 

Willie  Collier  asked  the  volatile  Hopper  why  he  had 
failed  to  invite  him  to  one  of  his  weddings.  Hopper 
promised  him  that  he  would  —  to  his  next! 

A  few  of  those  who  pose  as  my  critics  might  do  worse 
than  to  marry  —  once  in  a  while.  It  would  at  least  save 
expense! 

The  w^orld  is  better  with  such  men  as  Charlie  Reed 
and  Willie  Collier  as  occupants.  I  hope  that  Willie 
will  come  dancing  down  the  sun,  casting  his  wit  and 
humor  to  all  the  pessimistic  censors  of  the  drama  for 
years  to  come. 


Chapter  LXIX 
HENRY  MILLER 


WHOLESOME  and  natural  actor  is 
Henry  Miller  with  all  the  technique  of 
our  art  at  his  finger  tips,  he  is  a  splendid 
stage  manager.  Had  he  the  facihties  at 
his  command  I  am  sure  he  would  rank 
equally  with  David  Belasco  and  the  late 
Henry  Irving  —  as  a  master  producer. 

What  I  like  about  Miller's  acting  is  his  exquisite 
touch  and  splendid  repose.  I  have  known  him  for  more 
than  twenty  years  and  have  followed  his  career  steadily 
—  from  the  days  of  the  old  Empire  Stock  Company 
(where  he  was  surrounded  by  such  artists  as  Billy 
Thompson,  Viola  Allen  and  Wilham  Faversham)  down 
to  his  most  recent  vehicle,  "The  Rainbow."  And  al- 
ways he  has  proved  equal  to  his  task. 

I  may  be  prejudiced  in  his  favor  because  I  am  so  fond 
of  him  personally.  He  has  exquisite  charm  off  the  stage 
as  well  as  on.  I  always  anticipate  joyfully  meeting  him 
and  indulging  in  our  little  dressing-room  chats. 

Miller  is  an  artist  and  a  gentleman  and  an  ornament 
to  the  American  stage. 


290 


Chapter  LXX 
WHAT'S   IN  A  NAME? 


'jj^p^^^^^  Y  memory  was  never  my  strong  pomt. 
rJFS*'^7^4l   As  I  approach  maturity  (!)  I  find  to  my 

surprise  that  it  is  growing  better  rather 
than  worse.  But  perhaps  it  couldn't 
grow  worse! 

Nevertheless  the  time  I  won  the 
world's  championship  as  the  prize  forgetter  I  really 
didn't  deserve  it.  It  happened  early  in  the  divorce  pro- 
ceedings I  had  instituted  at  Reno  against  Maxine 
Elliott. 

Pardon  an  interjection;  but  I  must  express  my  sur- 
prise here  that  so  many  men  and  women  I  meet  are  all 
laboring  under  the  delusion  that  I  have  always  been  on 
the  receiving  end  of  divorce  actions!  No  less  recently 
than  June,  19 13,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  reading  in  the 
New  York  *' Evening  World"  a  very  clever  article  con- 
cerning my  kinship  with  Bluebeard,  and  Solomon,  and 
Henry  the  Eighth  in  the  course  of  which  the  young 
woman  who  wrote  the  article  declared  I  was  "more 
divorced  against  than  divorcing!"  The  truth  is  quite 
the  reverse  of  this  and  it  seems  to  me  should  be  so  easy 
of  confirmation  as  to  admit  of  no  uncertainty  in  any- 
one's mind,  however  much  my  reputation  makes  it  seem 
as  if  I  should  be  the  "divorced  against"  half  of  any 
match!  Three  divorces  have  marked  my  matrimonial 
experiences.  I  obtained  two  and  by  dint  of  hard  work 
and  much  skirmishing  (and  for  purely  business  reasons) 
managed  to  help  my  fourth  wife  obtain   her  freedom 

from  me! 

291 


292  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

Before  the  thought  of  divorcing  Maxine  had  entered 
my  head,  in  fact  while  we  were  still  living  at  Jackwood, 
I  had  become  interested  in  the  mining  game  and  after 
the  denouement  at  Trouville  I  headed  straight  for  Reno. 
Even  then  I  think  it  v.as  rather  my  purpose  to  get  into 
the  mining  gamble  head  over  heels  than  to  make  the 
divorce  center  of  America  my  ** legal  residence"  that  led 
me  to  Nevada.  I'll  admit  that  my  establishing  my 
business  headquarters  at  Reno  proved  a  great  con- 
venience! 

The  proceedings  were  well  under  way  and  I  was  on 
the  stand  as  a  witness  when  the  judge  asked  me  the 
name  of  my  wife  before  I  married  her.  I  told  him  it 
was  Hall. 

"That's  not  what  she  says,"  rephed  the  judge  severely. 

And  then  it  developed  that  when  her  answer  to  my 
complaint  had  been  returned  to  the  court  she  signed 
herself  McDermott. 

"But  that  is  the  name  of  her  first  husband,"  I  ex- 
plained.    "Her  maiden  name  is  Hall." 

"She  swears  her  maiden  name  is  McDermott,"  quoth 
the  judge. 

"Well,  her  brother's  name  is  Hall,"  I  insisted.  I 
ahvays  supposed  it  was  her  name  too." 

"Great  Scott!"  thundered  the  judge.  "Don't  you 
know  your  own  wufe's  name?" 

"No,  not  if  it  isn't  Hall,"  I  responded. 

Then  it  developed  that  Maxine's  maiden  name  was 
McDermott,  sure  enough.  The  McDermott  she  married 
was  no  relation.  Her  brother  had  assumed  the  name  of 
Hall. 

But  after  all  —  what's  in  a  name? 


Chapter  LXXI 


I   TRY  BEING  A   BUSINESS  MAN 

IJHILE  spending  a  holiday  at  Glenwood 
I  Springs,  Colorado,  I  met  a  man  from 
Goldfield,  Nevada.  He  was  fresh  from 
the  mining  camp  then  Just  blossoming 
into  great  pubhc  notice  and  he  knew  in 
detail  all  the  stories  of  its  vast  mineral 
products.  His  name  was  Brewer,  not  that  it  matters, 
and  he  had  all  the  swagger  and  bluster  of  a  mining 
magnate.  In  no  time  at  all  he  had  convinced  everyone 
in  the  hotel,  including  me,  that  he  was  one  of  the  lucky 
ones  who  had  struck  it  rich  in  that  land  of  gold! 

He  literally  threw  money  broadcast.  Bell  boys 
sprinted  in  a  continuous  marathon  to  and  from  the 
telegraph  ofTice  with  voluminous  messages  Brewer  sent 
and  received.  The  guests  spent  most  of  their  time 
admiring  and  envying  this  Croesus.  For  my  part  I 
found  my  gambhng  blood  becoming  aroused  at  his 
wondrous  recitals  of  the  possibihties  of  this  strange 
country.  When  he  invited  me  to  attend  the  Gans- 
Nelson  prize  fight  at  Goldfield  I  accepted  with  alacrity. 
At  Reno  we  found  a  private  car  awaiting  us  and  we 
were  conveyed  the  remaining  two  hundred  miles  to  the 
scene  of  the  fistic  encounter  in  royal  state.  What  an 
exciting  two  hundred  miles  they  were!  Brewer,  who 
had  proved  a  most  hospitable  gentleman,  planned  our 
having  the  car  for  our  exclusive  use,  but  before  we  had 
journeyed  half  the  distance  from  Reno  to  Goldfield  that 
car  was  crowded  to  suffocation!     His  impromptu  guests 

293 


294  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

included  gamblers,  fighters,  thieves,  soubrettes,  mer- 
chants, miners,  lawyers!  It  was  a  conclave  as  interest- 
ing as  it  w^as  motley. 

Thus,  sans  sleep,  we  rolled  into  Goldfield. 

What  an  exciting  place  it  was!  It  reminded  me  of 
another  primitive  community  in  Nevada,  Virginia  City, 
which  I  had  visited  twenty  years  earlier.  Here  were 
the  same  lack  of  civilization,  utter  abandon,  tent  houses 
by  the  hundreds,  a  few  straggling  brick  and  adobe 
buildings  and  the  inevitable  long  street  running  from 
end  to  end  of  the  town.  On  this  occasion  the  street 
w^as  filled  with  a  howling  mob  of  men  and  women  — 
rabid  fight  fans. 

Scores  of  derricks  and  piles  and  piles  of  ore  dumped 
on  the  sides  of  operating  mines,  not  to  mention  hundreds 
of  prospects  and  claims,  told  the  veriest  stranger  that 
here  was  a  mining  town.  Every  other  door  led  into  a 
gambling  house  or  a  saloon. 

As  you  contemplated  the  arid  desert  utterly  devoid  of 
vegetation,  hemmed  in  by  huge  mountains  themselves 
great  uplifts  of  barren  rock,  you  marvelled  at  the  courage 
of  the  first  man  who  made  bold  to  enter  that  land  of 
devastation  and  dust.  To  see  that  transplanted  Brocken 
scene  trodden  by  people  from  every  part  of  the  globe 
made  me  stop  and  ponder.  What  will  man  not  do  for 
gold?  To  be  sure  a  greater  part  of  this  mob  was  at- 
tracted to  Goldfield  by  the  fight;  but  the  aftermath  was 
horrible  to  contemplate,  the  time  when  only  those 
remained  who  gambled  on  what  they  hoped  to  find 
under  the  crust  called  earth.  I  realized  that  truly  this 
was  the  country  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest. 

A  mining  camp  is  a  cesspool  in  which  the  unfortunate 
ones  wish  for  death  and  a  mecca  for  a  certain  type  of 
speculators,  the  latter  almost  as  numerous  as  the 
former.  A  poor  man  has  a  better  chance  on  Broadway! 
The  desert  is  no  place  for  him.     A  practical  miner  can 


As  Cameo  Kirby 

/  never  played  a  character  I  liked  so  well 


I  TRY  BEING  A  BUSINESS  MAN  295 

earn  a  fair  living,  but  invariably  he  squanders  it  all  on 
the  green  cloth.  The  wanderer  has  an  ephemeral 
existence  living  upon  the  bounty  of  the  workman  who 
never  refuses  him  a  drink  or  a  stack  of  white  chips  — 
if  he  is  winning.  As  he  seldom  wins  the  wanderer 
(under  this  caption  I  include  all  those  outcasts  who 
form  a  veritable  scum  in  mining  camps)  finds  little 
chance  to  recoup  his  fortunes  at  the  gambling  table. 
The  desert  for  such  as  these  is  a  prison  difficult  to  escape 
from. 

After  the  fight  Brewer  persuaded  me  to  remain  as  his 
guest  for  a  few  days.  He  had  a  pretentious  dwelhng, 
as  dwelhngs  in  Goldfield  went,  and  continued  to  fill  the 
role  of  host  admirably.  I  was  already  seized  with  a 
spirit  of  speculation  and  shortly  had  become  launched 
with  Brewer  and  an  Englishman  named  Kennedy  on  a 
big  deal  which  ended  in  our  securing  an  option  on  a 
prospect  known  as  the  Triangle.  It  was  situated  about 
a  mile  from  town  at  Diamond  Fields  (why  the  diamond 
no  one  seemed  to  know!). 

Everybody  was  most  courteous  to  me.  (I  can't 
imagine  why!) 

One  night,  in  Casey's  Hotel,  I  almost  made  a  fortune. 
One  always  '* almost"  makes  a  fortune  in  a  mining  camp. 
On  this  occasion  I  was  playing  roulette  when  a  Chicago 
capitalist  approached  me  and  suggested  that  I  join  a 
syndicate  which  was  about  to  lease  a  property  of  great 
potential  value.  To  get  in  w^ould  cost  me  $5,000.  Just 
as  I  was  about  to  pay  down  the  money  Brewer  arrived 
on  the  scene  and  dragged  me  away  unceremoniously. 
He  told  me  more  than  $40,000  had  already  been  sunk 
in  the  property  and  although  they  had  gone  down  to  a 
depth  of  nearly  one  thousand  feet  they  had  not  dis- 
covered even  a  tomato  can. 

"Do  you  expect  to  find  tomato  cans  as  far  down  in 
the  bowels  of  the  earth  as  that?"     I  am  afraid  Brewer 


296  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

doubted  the  ingenuousness  of  my  credulity  as  I  asked 
this  question  —  blandly. 

Brewer  persuaded  me  to  keep  out  of  the  syndicate. 
The  Chicago  capitalist  and  his  few  associates  in  the 
succeeding  nine  months  each  took  $1,250,000  out  of  this 
property  and  the  price  of  the  stock  rose  from  $2  to  $20 
a  share! 

I  put  my  all  into  Triangle.  We  bought  a  controlling 
interest  for  fifteen  cents  a  share  and  then  bulled  the 
stock  on  the  Goldfield  exchange  until  it  sold  at  more 
than  one  dollar  a  share.  This  was  making  money 
fairly  fast.  The  whole  thing  was  accomplished  in  about 
four  months!  I  journeyed  back  to  New  York  and 
quickly  told  all  my  friends  to  get  aboard.  Expert 
engineers  had  told  me  that  at  the  one-hundred-foot 
level  they  had  struck  ore  averaging  $40  a  ton.  When 
the  public  received  this  illuminating  bit  of  information 
the  stock  rose  to  $1.50. 

I  bought  some  at  that  price! 

Previously  I  had  bought  more  than  100,000  shares 
with  my  partners  and  as  many  more  on  my  own  account 
at  varying  prices  from  fifteen  cents  up. 

The  engineers  were  strictly  truthful.  They  had 
found  forty-dollar  ore  all  right.  But  my  partners 
neglected  to  inform  me  that  they  had  carefully  placed 
it  where  it  was  found!  That  was  my  introduction  to 
the  gentle  art  of  ''salting"  a  mine.  Ever  since,  at  the 
mere  mention  of  the  word  mine  there  comes  a  brackish 
taste  in  my  mouth. 

They  had  taken  their  profits  when  the  stock  was 
selhng  at  one  dollar  and  had  gone  short  100,000  shares 
above  this  price;  in  fact  they  were  the  sellers  of  all  the 
stock  I  purchased  above  the  dollar  price!  Happily 
they  were  unable  to  control  the  upward  trend  of  the 
market.  As  fast  as  they  sold  short  I  bought.  Their 
stock  got  away  from  them.     When  they  were  called  on 


I  TRY  BEING  A  BUSINESS  MAN  297 

to  deliver  what  they  had  sold  they  had  not  one  share 
and  were  forced  to  call  upon  me  for  help.  Thinking 
they  were  in  a  hole  merely  because  of  innocent  blunders 
I  loaned  them  100,000  shares  for  $4,000. 

That  block  of  stock  they  sent  to  my  own  brokers  for 
my  own  account  in  Goldfield!  My  brokers  confiscated 
all  of  it  to  satisfy  a  loan  they  had  extended  to  this  pair 
of  partners  of  mine!  Thus  was  I  robbed  of  stock  worth 
in  the  open  market  $150,000.  When  I  was  fully  awake 
I  sold  the  remainder  of  my  holdings,  realizing  about  60 
cents  a  share.  In  all  I  cleared  about  $20,000  in  this 
first  adventure  into  the  mining  game  —  although  many 
of  my  friends  still  believe  I  made  a  half  million  out  of 
Triangle. 

Meantime  I  had  endorsed  Brewer's  notes  for  $10,000 
taking  as  security  stock  in  another  property  he  con- 
trolled. When  the  notes  fell  due  I  had  to  pay  them  as 
by  that  time  everybody  had  discovered  Brewer's 
specialty  and  was  demanding  liquidation.  By  threaten- 
ing to  send  him  to  the  penitentiary  I  succeeded  in  re- 
gaining part  of  the  $10,000  and  erased  his  name  from 
my  visiting  list. 

Brewer  is  now  playing  the  tambourine  in  the  Salva- 
tion Army.  At  the  last  reports  he  was  trying  to  trade 
that  instrument  for  a  harp,  with  which  to  pick  his  way 
into  heaven  —  undoubtedly.  He  was  a  failure  with  the 
pick  in  Nevada.  Perhaps  he  will  be  more  successful  in 
heaven.  If  he  succeeds  in  gaining  admission  (and  I 
ever  get  there)  I'll  try  to  steal  his  harp! 

Although  I  made  but  little  money  at  Goldfield  I  was 
very  greatly  attracted  by  its  life;  the  utter  abandon, 
the  manhood,  the  disregard  of  municipal  laws,  the 
semblance  of  honor  which  fooled  so  many,  the  codes  of 
right  and  wrong,  the  tremendous  chances  that  were 
taken  with  a  dice  box.  It  was  as  exciting  as  being  a 
member  of  a  suicide  club! 


298  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

Why  do  we  court  conflict  with  Fate  when  we  know 
Fate  is  merciless? 

I  wonder. 

Immediately  after  my  unfortunate  alliance  with 
Brewer  I  formed  an  association  with  two  men  who, 
with  me,  believed  in  going  at  the  mining  game  legiti- 
mately. By  this  I  mean  it  is  legitimate  to  buy  options 
on  prospects  and  properties  which  look  good  and  place 
them  on  the  market  after  they  have  been  carefully 
examined  by  mining  experts.  Placing  them  on  the 
market  involves  forming  stock  companies  in  each  of 
which  we  must  have  the  controHing  interest.  If  the 
properties  turn  out  well  we  continue  to  develop  them 
and  work  them  for  all  they're  worth.  This  was  the 
general  idea  of  our  new  association. 

I  was  the  financial  backer.  One  of  my  partners  was 
a  practical  miner  who  knew  nothing  about  pubhcity 
work  nor  the  art  of  promotion.  The  other  was  a  young 
man  who  had  gone  stranded  in  Reno  and  whom  I  had 
known  slightly  in  Goldfield  as  one  of  the  boldest  opera- 
tors in  that  roaring  camp.  He  had  failed  for  $3,000,000 
in  Goldfield  (mentioned  by  way  of  corroboration  of  this 
young  gentleman's  boldness!),  and  then  paid  his  creditors 
100  cents  on  the  dollar,  quitting  the  camp  broke. 

In  due  time  and  with  no  httle  formahty  was  launched 
the  Nat  C.  Goodwin  Company,  mine  operators  with 
headquarters  in  Reno.  Presently  we  secured  control  of 
a  valuable  property  in  the  new  mining  town  Rawhide. 
The  stock  was  worth  most  in  Rawhide  itself.  All  the 
mining  experts  there  knew  the  property.  Thousands  of 
shares  were  sold  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  new  mining 
camp  who  were  loudest  in  their  boasts  that  we  would 
soon  prove  that  our  property  was  the  peer  of  the  great 
Goldfield  consoHdated. 

So  confident  were  we  that  we  had  a  really  valuable 
property  that  we  determined  to  go  to  New  York  and 


I  TRY  BEING  A  BUSINESS  MAN  299 

let  the  public  in  on  the  ground  floor.  With  no  difliculty 
at  all  we  listed  our  stock  on  the  New  York  Curb  and 
with  no  manipulation  that  stock  soared  from  25  cents 
to  $1.50  per  share,  almost  over  night.  All  we  had  to 
do  with  it  was  publishing  the  mining  experts'  reports. 

The  gentlemen  who  call  themselves  brokers  on  the 
Curb  banded  themselves  together  and  conspired  to  work 
our  ruin.     In  the  end  they  succeeded. 

But  before  they  did  we  managed  to  mount  fairly  high 
in  the  business;  our  legitimate  methods  and  the  unflag- 
ging industry  of  my  partners  resulting  in  nine  months  in 
our  acquiring  the  controlling  interest  in  Rawhide  Coali- 
tion, owning  outright  another  property  in  Rawhide,  one 
in  Bovard,  one  in  Fairview,  one  in  Goldfield  and  the 
Ely  Central.  The  purchase  price  of  Rawhide  Coalition 
was  $700,000  and  of  Ely  Central,  $1,075,000.  We  had 
fine  offices  in  New  York  in  which  we  employed  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty-five  stenographers!  There  we  edited 
and  published  a  weekly  newspaper,  not  to  mention  a 
daily  and  weekly  market  letter.  Each  had  a  circula- 
tion of  60,000  copies  weekly. 

This  was  the  time  that  the  big  promoters  of  Wall 
Street  decided  we  had  been  prosperous  long  enough. 
They  ** raided'*  our  stocks  — an  interesting  process  for 
which  there  is  not  room  here.  Their  raids  were  followed 
by  the  publication  in  two  of  the  daily  newspapers  of 
the  fact  that  one  of  my  partners  had  a  Past.  It  was  a 
youthful  past  —  the  event  happened  back  in  1894, 
just  sixteen  years  before  —  but  they  dug  it  up  to 
bludgeon  the  market  with. 

What  of  it?  In  Nevada  it's  what  a  man  is  —  not 
what  he  was  —  that  counts. 

They  said  our  ** mines"  and  "prospects"  were  fakes, 
my  partners  imposters  and  I  a  willing  took  A  burly 
police  captain  came  to  my  apartments  and  threatened 
me  with  all  sorts  of  punishments  unless  I  agreed  to  pay 


300  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

for  **  protection."  I  was  fearfully  upset  and  insisted 
that  my  attorney  examine  the  books  of  the  company 
to  assure  me  that  everything  was  being  conducted 
honestly.  I  knew  the  properties  in  Nevada  were  all  we 
claimed  for  them.  I  had  spent  months  there  and  had 
panned  gold  on  every  yard  of  these  properties.  My 
attorney  made  a  rigid  examination  of  the  books  and 
assured  me  that  everything  was  strictly  legitimate. 

Then  it  was  I  determined  to  continue  for  I  knew  we 
had  the  goods  and  had  been  "on  the  level"  But  the 
market  looters  were  inexorable  and  showed  no  mercy. 
They  broke  our  stock  in  one  day  from  $1.50  to  60  cents. 
Aly  partner,  the  man  with  a  youthful  Past,  stood  by 
his  guns.  Instead  of  allowing  the  stock  to  tumble  and 
against  my  advice,  he  bought  every  share  as  fast  as  it 
was  offered  with  the  result  that  we  found  ourselves 
owners  of  hundreds  of  thousands  of  shares  of  stock 
bought  at  prices  ranging  from  Si. 50  downwards  which 
we  could  not  readily  dispose  of  again,  because  of  the 
slanderous  utterances  of  the  destroyers. 

This  sportsmanlike  act  of  my  partner  was  repeated 
on  another  occasion,  a  few  months  later,  during  the 
marketing  of  Ely  Central  stock.  The  conspirators 
finally  used  a  ''pull"  in  Washington  and  succeeded  in 
getting  the  Federal  authorities  to  close-up  the  business. 
Rawhide  Coalition,  according  to  latest  information,  is 
earning  $200,000  a  year  now  (1913-14).  Ely  Central 
has  been  "grabbed"  and  will  be  merged  with  the 
Rockefeller-Cole-Ryan  owned  Giroux,  its  neighbor. 

I  had  learned  months  previously  that  there  was  a 
plot  on  foot  to  put  our  firm  out  of  business  and  the 
identity  of  the  big  interests  behind  this  scheme  thor- 
oughly impressed  me.  The  suggestion  that  I  "get  out" 
while  the  getting  was  good  appealed  to  me  strongly. 
But  first  I  acquainted  my  partners  with  the  facts. 
The   man   with  the   past  was   as   stubborn   as   he  was 


I   TRY   BEING  A   BUSINESS   MAN  301 

honest.  He  knew  we  were  dealing  honestly  with  the 
public  and  he  was  bent  on  standing  by  his  guns  and 
proving  it.  I  knew  the  sword  of  Damocles  was  hanging 
by  the  slenderest  of  threads  —  and  resigned. 

Eighteen  months  later  the  offices  were  the  scene  of 
a  sure-enough,  wild-Western  raid.  All  the  staff  was 
placed  under  arrest  and  indicted  by  the  grand  jury. 
It  cost  the  government  several  hundred  thousands  of 
dollars  to  put  that  partner  of  mine  in  jail  for  six  months, 
but  they  did  it  by  main  force  and  broke  him  first.  The 
combat  was  an  uneven  one,  and  the  "government" 
practically  confessed  before  the  trial  was  finished  that 
they  had  been  unwittingly  used  to  do  a  **job"  for  Wall 
Street.  The  only  crime  my  partner  was  guilty  of  was 
telling  the  truth  and  trying  to  protect  his  customers. 

I  have  set  this  down,  not  so  much  as  autobiography 
as  a  vindication  for  a  man  who  insisted  on  being  an 
honest  man,  no  matter  what  the  cost!  Also  I  have 
wished  to  disabuse  some  of  my  friends  of  an  impression 
that  I  made  a  fortune  out  of  my  adventure  into  the 
mining  game.     I  didn't  make  a  fortune.     I  lost  one! 


X 


Chapter  LXXII 


THE    FIVE    FATEFUL    FISH   CAKES    AND 
NUMBER   FOUR 

CARRIAGE  for  me  had  become  an  inci- 
dent, not  a  conquest,  now  that  I  had 
tried  and  tried  again  —  three  times ! 
Ever  since  my  earliest  youth  I  had 
loved  the  beautiful  in  nature.  But  I 
never  sought  these  beautiful  creatures 
who  sooner  or  later  took  my  name.  On  the  contrary,  as 
I  have  shown,  my  second  and  third  wives  were  thrust 
upon  me  by  force  of  circumstances.  Being  human  I 
allowed  my  bark  of  irresponsibility  to  sail  tranquilly 
into  the  harbor  of  intrigue. 

If  these  two  marriages  were  errors  my  fourth  venture 
into  matrimony  was  a  catastrophe!  I  fled  from  a 
Cleopatra  to  meet  a  Borgia. 

And  a  dish  of  fish  cakes  proved  my  undoing  I 
I  am  passionately  fond  of  the  mixture  of  salt  fish  and 
potato  —  at   least    I    had    been    for   twenty-five  years. 
Now,   for  some  reason,   the  mention  of  the  aforetime 
dehcacy  makes  me  shudder. 

It  was  early  one  morning  that  I  was  hurrying  to  the 
ferry  on  my  way  to  Washington  when  I  caught  the  in- 
describable odor  of  fish  cakes  wafted  toward  me  from 
the  open  door  of  the  old  Metropole  Hotel.  Instantly  I 
forgot  everything.  Fish  cakes  appealed  to  me  more 
then  than  anything  in  all  the  world  —  except  only  a 
cup  of  Child's  "surpassing"  and  a  plate  of  butter  cakes, 
colloquially  known  as  "sinkers."  Into  the  Metropole 
I  went  and  sat  me  down  to  await  the  execution  of  my 

order. 

302 


NUMBER   FOUR  303 

Hardly  had  I  taken  my  seat  when  an  ex-manager  of 
an  ex-champion  prize  fighter  approached  me  with  a 
proposition  which  reduced  to  its  simplest  terms  meant 
that  I  become  angel  for  a  theatrical  troupe.  I  had  httle 
confidence  in  his  managerial  abihty  and  knew  enough 
of  his  past  environment  to  convince  me  that  he  was  not 
the  man  to  handle  any  part  of  my  money.  When  he 
told  me  the  enterprise  had  already  been  launched  and 
had  met  with  failure  after  a  disastrous  tour  I  was 
positive  I  should  never  be  induced  to  act  as  its 
reviver. 

I  arrived  at  this  sane  conclusion,  however,  before  the 
fish  cakes  were  set  before  me! 

The  scenery,  it  seemed,  was  held  by  the  sheriff  in 
Jersey  City  for  unpaid  debts.  The  young  and  hand- 
some woman  star  was  lying  in  hiding  in  an  apartment 
house  nearby  —  in  a  hysterical  condition  promoted  by 
her  discovery  of  the  perfidy  of  her  manager  and  of  the 
syndicate  of  backers  who  had  "backed"  with  spontane- 
ous unanimity  at  the  crucial  moment.  These  gentle- 
men, my  informer  continued,  had  not  only  refused  to 
rescue  the  scenery  from  the  vulgar  Jersey  sheriff,  but 
had  also  refused  to  redeem  $20,000  worth  of  jewels 
which  the  young  and  handsome  star  had  pawned  in 
Louisville  that  the  attraction  might  remain  on  tour. 

Before  I  had  finished  the  first  fish  cake  I  discovered 
with  mild  surprise  that  the  ex-champion  prize  fighter's 
ex-manager  had  a  hitherto  concealed  attractive  manner 
of  speech  and  was  altogether  a  magnetic  sort  of  chap. 
As  my  digestive  processes  began  work  on  that  first  fish 
cake  I  found  myself  interested  not  a  httle  in  this  recital 
of  the  young  woman's  sufferings.  I  must  have  shown  it 
for  my  companion  waxed  more  and  more  enthusiastic 
and  concluded  an  especially  colorful  description  of  her 
anguish  with  the  whispered  statement  that  she  had  been 
ruined ! 


304  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

In  response  to  my  sympathetic  query  he  replied  that 
he  had  intended  to  qualify  the  remark  with  the  word 
financially ! 

In  order  further  to  test  the  truthfulness  of  his  tale  I 
asked  the  names  of  the  syndicate  of  backers.  They 
included  a  notorious  roue,  a  wealthy  stock  broker  and 
the  ex-champion  prize  fighter  —  a  versatile  trio.  It 
took  but  a  short  time  for  me  to  discover  also  the  name 
of  the  attraction  and  of  the  young  and  handsome  star. 
Fate  was  again  at  my  elbow.  I  had  heard  of  both  play 
and  player  weeks  before.  The  play  had  been  suggested 
to  me  for  my  own  use.  I  had  refused  to  negotiate  for 
it  as  I  was  then  under  the  management  of  Charles 
Frohman  and  had  no  wish  to  make  a  change.  But  I 
knew  that  it  was  a  very  clever  farce.  Its  failure,  I  was 
convinced,  was  the  fault  of  inadequate  acting  and  bad 
booking. 

This  conclusion  was  not  reached  until  I  had  masti- 
cated five  fish  cakes! 

By  the  time  I  had  finished  the  fifth  my  blood  was 
fairly  boihng  and  the  whole  universe  seemed  to  me  to  be 
calling  aloud  for  a  man  to  step  forward  and  right  the 
wrongs  the  young  and  handsome  star  had  suffered. 
The  treatment  she  had  received  was  inhuman,  I  was 
sure  of  it! 

Impulsively  I  telegraphed  the  young  lady  in  Washing- 
ton on  whom  I  had  started  to  call  that  I  was  detained 
in  New  York  on  most  important  business.  Then  we 
jumped  into  a  cab  and  were  on  our  way  to  the  abode  of 
the  young  and  handsome  (not  to  forget  hysterical)  star. 

Oh  why  did  I  not  go  to  Washington?  Why,  oh  why, 
did  my  mad  passion  for  fish  cakes  cause  me  to  tarry  at 
the  Metropole?  Perhaps  Demon  Fate  will  answer  that 
when  posterity  turns  gray. 

Arrived  at  our  destination  we  were  first,  and  speedily, 
ushered  into  the  presence  of  the  mother  of  our  heroine- 


Edna  Goodrich 

My  young  and  handsome  star 


NUMBER   FOUR  305 

in-distress.  She  was  a  middle  aged  woman  of  the  mod- 
ern, alert  type  —  who  enjoyed  cigarettes  when  her  dear 
daughter  was  not  in  evidence.  As  we  chatted  inconse- 
quentially I  fancied  I  had  seen  her  somewhere  previously; 
but  as  she  launched  forth  on  her  distracted  tale  of  her 
daughter's  ruin  (she  did  not  quahfy  it!)  my  truant 
thoughts  were  squelched. 

Then  came  radiantly  the  daughter.  She  was  sub- 
merged in  sables!  Resplendent  jewels  covered  her! 
Evidently  the  aspiring  Juliet  had  not  left  everything  in 
Louisville.  I  was  sure  I  had  to  deal  with  a  very  thrifty 
and  provident,  yes,  and  young  and  handsome  star! 

All  the  ex-manager  had  told  me  was  quickly  verified 
by  the  daughter  and  her  astute  mama.  As  was  to  be 
expected  I  let  all  my  doubts  dissolve  in  pity.  Also  I 
felt  a  combined  desire  to  be  philanthropic  and  heroic. 
I  was  almost  as  quick  a  thinker  in  those  days  as  I  was 
rapid  as  a  spender.  I  was  47  years  old!  Perhaps, 
gentle  reader,  you  know  how  susceptible  are  we  clever 
men  at  that  time  of  life,  how  tranquilly  we  sit  back  on 
the  cushions  of  our  thoughts  and  say  to  ourselves  we 
are  proof  against  the  blandishments  of  women.  We  are 
sure  that  all  the  favors  we  bestow  emanate  from  the 
bigness  of  our  hearts !  We  are  proof  against  all  tempta- 
tion.    We  know  that  December  and  May  can  not  mate! 

Believe  me,  my  dear  reader,  I  was  convinced  when  I 
made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  assist  this  young  woman 
I  was  doing  an  act  of  simple  charity,  combined  w^ith  a 
little  business  tact.  It  was  to  be  merely  a  business 
transaction.  Fate  might  have  nudged  my  elbow,  at  least 
once,  that  I  might  have  foreseen  the  cost  of  my  vanity. 

Within  four  hours  from  the  moment  the  young  and 
handsome  star  appeared  on  my  horizon  I  had  financed 
this  worthy  trio  to  the  extent  of  releasing  the  scenery 
and  redeeming  the  jewels.  Also  and  by  way  of  security 
(!)  I  found  myself  owner  of  the  play. 


306  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

Oh  I  was  some  business  man  in  those  days! 

Five  days  later  I  sailed  for  London. 

Alone? 

Oh  no. 

With  me  I  took  the  just-released  scenery,  the  play 
(which  I  had  never  read  but  which  I  "knew"  was  a 
clever  farce)  and  a  promise  from  the  young  and  hand- 
some star  that  she  would  follow  on  a  steamship  three 
weeks  later. 

Before  I  sailed,  with  what  seemed  to  me  unnecessary 
foresight  I  cabled  Tom  Ryley,  then  lessee  of  the  Shafts- 
bury  Theatre,  announcing  my  coming  and  asking  that 
he  prepare  for  the  opening  of  my  young  and  handsome 
star  and  me  in  "The  Genius."  When  I  reached  London  I 
found  Ryley  had  obtained  the  rights  to  "The  Lion  and 
the  Mouse"  and  was  enthusiastic  over  its  production. 
Charles  Frohman  had  cabled  him  to  endeavor  to  induce 
me  to  play  the  leading  role.  But  I  never  for  one  mo- 
ment believed  London  would  accept  "The  Lion  and  the 
Mouse"  and  refused  to  appear  in  it.  (My  opinion  of 
London's  acceptance  of  "The  Genius" — now  that  I  had 
read  it  —  was  not  much  more  optimistic !)  We  com- 
promised on  a  production  of  "A  Gilded  Fool."  This 
ran  one  week.  Ryley  again  approached  me  with  the 
leading  part  in  "The  Lion  and  the  Mouse"  and  again  I 
refused.     And  now  I  urged  him  to  put  on  "The  Genius." 

Ryley,  ordinarily  a  brainy  chap,  showed  unexpected 
lack  of  appreciation  of  talent  and  refused  point  blank 
to  produce  the  farce  if  the  young  woman  from  America 
appeared  in  it.  He  seemed  not  at  all  impressed  by  my 
eloquent  description  of  her  ability  as  an  actress.  (Later 
he  told  me  he  had  seen  her  on  the  stage!)  (Much  later 
I  confided  to  him  that  I  never  had!) 

Back  I  came  to  New  York  —  bringing  with  me  a 
young  woman  I  had  discovered  in  London.  (I  am 
always    "discovering"    young    women.     It's    a    habit.) 


NUMBER   FOUR  307 

This  young  woman,  however,  has  since  made  history  for 
herself.  The  wife  of  an  automobile  salesman  and  earn- 
ing pin  money  as  an  "extra  woman"  at  the  Shaftsbury 
Theatre,  she  volunteered  one  day  to  type  extra  copies  of 
"A  Gilded  Fool"  which  were  needed  quickly.  She  did 
the  work  so  well  I  engaged  her  as  my  secretary.  One  day 
she  read  me  a  speech  from  the  play  and  so  impressed 
me  with  her  intelligence  I  gave  her  the  leading  parts  in 
both  "A  Gilded  Fool"  and  "An  American  Citizen"  to 
study.  Her  readings  of  these  two  parts  led  me  to  engage 
her  then  and  there  as  my  leading  lady  —  in  place  of  the 
young  and  handsome  star  whom  Ryley  couldn't  "see." 
(In  passing  I  may  say  I  paid  her  five  pounds  per  week!) 
After  the  opening  night's  performance  I  engaged  her 
for  three  years  at  a  salary  of  $150  per  week! 

Thus  began  the  career  of  Alexandra  Carlisle,  to-day 
the  highest  salaried  leading  lady  in  London! 

I  had  a  most  trying  experience  with  Miss  Carlisle. 
On  the  railway  trip  from  London  to  Southampton  we 
had  as  fellow  travellers  her  father  and  mother  and 
husband  —  and  we  made  a  very  happy  quintette.  But 
directly  we  were  aboard  the  ship  Miss  Carlisle  fell  victim 
to  an  attack  of  homesickness.  Perhaps  it  was  her  sense 
of  loss  of  her  husband,  perhaps  mal  de  mer  was  at  the 
bottom  of  it.  In  any  event  she  spent  the  entire  trip  in 
tears  and  in  borrowing  all  my  spare  cash  to  send  love 
messages,  via  wireless,  to  the  husband  for  whom  she  had 
shown  no  affection  at  all  —  up  to  the  time  of  our  leav- 
ing. Of  course  all  the  old  lady  passengers  glared  at  me 
the  first  day  out!  The  rumor  literally  flew  all  over  that 
ship  that  I  was  either  abducting  the  young  woman  — 
or,  equally  heinous  offense,  was  neglecting  her! 

But  to  return  to  the  mundane  fish  cakes  —  and  the 
consequences  thereof! 

The  ex-champion's  ex-manager  had  remained  in  Lon- 
don after  the  departure  of  the  discomfited  young  and 


3o8  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

handsome  star  and  her  mama  —  to  watch  over  me! 
Instructions  had  been  cabled  to  him  later  to  be  especially 
watchful  now  that  I  was  at  my  old  game  of  "discover- 
ing" leading  ladies.  The  trio  of  conspirators  were  very, 
very  busy  those  days!  The  purpose  of  the  ex-manager's 
presence  at  my  elbow,  constantly  shown,  was  to  have  me 
land  in  New  York  fancy  free.  In  spite  of  my  sus- 
ceptible nature  there  was  no  cause  for  alarm  this  time! 
I  was  intensely  respectable!  As  yet  I  had  not  even 
thought  of  divorcing  Maxine  Elhott. 

My  idea  was  to  combine  two  types  of  beauty,  Enghsh 
and  American,  and  with  good  press  work  make  both  my 
leading  women  popular  favorites.  But  the  hopeless 
state  of  mind  of  Miss  CarKsIe  put  rather  a  damper  on 
my  plan.  I  turned  her  over  to  the  care  of  the  ex- 
manager  and  remained  in  my  stateroom  during  the 
entire  trip.  On  our  arrival  in  New  York  I  loaned  Miss 
Carlisle  the  cost  of  her  passage  home  and  the  following 
week  she  started  back  to  London  —  much  to  the 
satisfaction  of  my  American  beauty,  pardon,  my  young 
and  handsome  star. 

It  struck  me  as  an  odd  coincidence  that  on  the  same 
ship  with  Miss  Carhsle,  also  bound  for  London,  was 
Miss  Maxine  —  who  always  found  it  convenient  to  go 
to  England  within  a  day  or  two  of  my  arrival  in  America! 

Fate  was  a  busy  bee  these  days,  I  can  tell  you.  He 
was  weaving  his  net  well  —  and  tightly. 

Of  course  the  young  and  handsome  star  and  her 
mama  met  me  at  the  pier.  They  drove  me  to  a  most 
luxurious  flat  in  Twenty-sixth  Street  —  in  a  landau 
drawn  by  two  spanking  bays.  Truly  my  young  and 
handsome  star  was  going  some!  After  a  hearty  luncheon 
prepared  by  Martin  I  went  to  my  hotel  and  spent  the 
evening  with  my  friends,  who  were,  are  and  always  have 
been  —  men! 

The  next  day  I  arranged  a  tour  for  "The  Genius." 


NUMBER   FOUR  309 

The  less  said  about  that  tour  — 

With  my  marriage  to  Edna  Goodrich,  the  young  and 
handsome  star,  forsooth,  the  mere  mention  of  fish  cakes 
caused  me  to  shudder! 

At  the  end  of  that  first  tour  I  knew  that  the  end  was 
at  hand.  Perhaps  I  was  influenced  by  the  fact  that  my 
friends  told  me  at  every  conceivable  opportunity  of  the 
record  of  the  young  woman  and  her  mama.  Of  course 
I  indignantly  refused  to  hsten  to  these  allegations;  but 
the  fact  that  there  existed  grounds  for  such  allegations 
may  possibly  have  disturbed  me.  However,  we  went 
along,  producing  "When  We  Were  Twenty-One,"  "An 
American  Citizen,"  one  act  of  "The  Merchant  of 
Venice"  (thank  God  it  was  only  one  act!)  and  an 
original  play  written  by  George  Broadhurst,  which 
made  a  tremendous  hit  in  the  South  but  was  a  failure 
in  the  East. 

My  star-wife  complained  of  being  ill  at  the  end  of  the 
season  and  I  sent  her  to  a  famous  specialist  in  Minnesota 
for  a  series  of  treatments.  Her  recovery  was  almost 
instantaneous!  In  five  days,  from  the  day  she  left  me, 
she  wired  me  in  California  that  she  was  in  New  York 
about  to  start  for  Europe!  She  asked  that  I  follow  her. 
I  rephed  I  had  just  reached  Los  Angeles  and  had 
business  that  would  keep  me  there  —  at  least  over 
night. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  the  end  indeed. 

One  night  at  dinner,  a  month  or  so  later,  I  received 
an  anonymous  letter  containing  charges  against  my 
absent  bride.  These  general  allegations  interested  me 
less  than  the  statement  that  the  writer  could  show  me  a 
watch  which  I  had  mourned  as  lost  for  many  months. 
You  see  I  wanted  the  watch! 

I  arranged  for  an  interview  with  my  unknown  corre- 
spondent, by  putting  a  club  in  the  pocket  of  my  dressing 
gown.     Two  men  appeared.     One,  a  very  common  sort 


310  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

of  person,  I  kept  in  my  drawing  room  and  the  other,  a 
young,  respectable  looking  chap  I  took  into  my  den. 
There  I  began  my  cross-examination.  After  promising 
to  show  me  the  long-lost  watch  the  following  morning 
he  called  in  his  companion  who  proved  to  be  a  waiter 
in  a  cafe  in  which  my  wife  had  enjoyed  her  clandestine 
meetings.  His  description  of  the  man  immediately 
served  to  identify  him  as  one  of  my  wife's  former  ad- 
mirers —  a  gentleman-about-town  who  had  squandered 
$20,000  on  her,  proposed  and  been  accepted  (before  our 
marriage)  and,  fortunately,  gone  broke  before  the 
ceremony  could  be  performed!  My  discovery  that  he 
was  the  gentleman  in  the  case  made  me  wonder.  I  had 
not  heard  that  his  fortunes  had  been  repaired  —  before 
this! 

The  following  morning  we  visited  a  pawn  broker's 
shop  and  there  in  the  window,  hanging  on  a  line,  was 
my  watch.  I  recognized  it,  not  only  from  its  engraved 
initials  but  also  because  it  was  one  of  three  which  were 
never  duplicated.  I  had  bought  all  three  in  Paris  years 
before  and  given  two  of  them  to  my  two  best  friends. 
When  it  disappeared  I  was  sure  it  had  been  stolen  and 
did  my  best  to  trace  it  with  the  aid  of  the  pohce.  I 
did  not  suspect  my  wife! 

The  young  man  had  discovered  the  facts  when  the 
man-about-town  in  a  moment  of  drunken  braggadocio 
boasted  of  his  friendship  with  my  wife  and  displayed 
my  watch  as  proof  of  it!  . 

In  the  frenzy  of  the  moment  my  impulse  was  to  drop 
all  else  and  find  this  whelp  —  to  drive  him  at  the  point 
of  a  revolver  into  that  pawn  shop  and  there  make  him 
redeem  and  return  to  me  the  property  which  I  could  not 
accuse  him  of  steahng!  On  second  thought  I  realized 
that  if  I  ever  laid  eyes  on  him  I  could  never  refrain 
from  taking  just  one  pop  at  him  —  and  if  the  sound 
appealed  to  me  I  was  afraid  I  might  continue  popping. 


As  Shylock 

One  of  my  successful  failures 


NUMBER   FOUR  311 

So  I  counted  ten  and  my  reason  returned.  To  be  locked 
up  for  murder  even  if  for  only  a  few  minutes  is  not  a 
think  to  be  courted.  Besides  there  were  always  my 
mother  and  father  to  consider.  Altogether  it  would 
have  been  the  act  of  a  fool  and  for  once  I  determined  to 
play  another  role.  In  following  out  this  resolve  I 
hastily  left  Los  Angeles  and  started  for  London. 

Loving  wife  and  fond  mama  had  no  intimation  of  my 
discovery.  They  were  awaiting  me  at  the  station  and 
never  did  a  husband  get  a  warmer  greeting!  Why,  even 
mama  seemed  to  have  absorbed  much  of  loving  daugh- 
ter's excess  of  affection  for  me!  And  thus  they  con- 
ducted me  to  a  snug  apartment  in  the  Savoy  Hotel. 
To  interrupt  such  tender  sohcitude  for  my  well  being  by 
vulgar  references  to  other  men  who  yesterday  had  been 
the  recipients  of  all  I  was  getting  then  would  have  put 
me  too  far  out  of  the  picture !  So  I  sat  tight  and  waited 
for  morning. 

After  breakfast  the  next  day  I  opened  the  ball  by 
remarking  that  I  had  finally  come  across  the  trail  of 
the  thief  who  had  stolen  my  watch.  Also  I  added  with 
seeming  irrelevancy  that  I  had  heard  about  the  clandes- 
tine meetings  my  wife  had  been  indulging  in  with  a 
gentleman   I   named. 

Her  denials  were  not  only  positive;  they  were  indig- 
nant. The  fact  that  I  had  absolute  proof  of  all  I  had 
thus  far  said  was  the  only  thing  that  saved  me  from 
becoming  thoroughly  convinced  that  I  was  mistaken. 

Why  is  it  so  many  women  are  such  consummate 
actresses  off  the  stage  and  such  impossible  amateurs 
on? 

I  did  a  little  acting  on  my  own  account,  however,  and 
evidenced  complete  belief  in  all  my  wife's  denials.  She 
was  sure  I  would  eventually  find  my  watch  in  the  top 
tray  of  a  trunk  which  had  Iain  in  storage  in  New  York 
for  m.onths.     I  let  it  go  at  that.     I  had  acquired  all  the 


312  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

proof  I  wanted,  in  other  directions,  and  was  satisfied. 
Besides,  all  this  happened  during  the  month  of  June, 
1 910,  and  I  was  in  a  great  hurry  to  get  back  to  America. 

The  contest  for  the  heavy-weight  pugihstic  cham- 
pionship of  the  world  was  scheduled  to  be  held 
July  4,  1910! 

My  wife  remained  abroad  that  summer  but  the 
Jeffries-Johnson-fight-disappointment  almost  offset  that 
benediction. 

Preparatory  to  my  going  back  into  my  profession  I 
bought  a  play  from  George  Broadhurst  who  for  some 
inconceivable  (!)  reason  refused  to  let  me  produce  it  if 
I  allowed  my  wife  to  appear  in  it.  This  was  quite  a 
shock  to  me  but  I  set  it  down  to  the  well-known  eccen- 
tricity of  authors.  Present  in  a  box  at  the  opening  per- 
formance of  the  play  was  my  quondam  "young  and 
handsome  star"  who  returned  to  New  York  just  in  time 
to  grace  the  occasion.  Later  she  descended  on  our  little 
organization  while  we  were  playing  in  Toronto  and  this 
time  she  hurled  accusations  of  all  kinds  at  my  head  — 
any  one  of  which  would  have  enabled  her  to  divorce 
me  even  in  England!  When  the  trial  of  her  divorce 
action  came  along  all  these  charges  were  disproven — 
but  that  one  session  in  Toronto  was  not  conducted  along 
Parliamentary  lines,  so  far  as  she  was  concerned. 

That  she  had  instituted  the  proceedings  didn't  bother 
me  at  all.  Having  done  all  the  affirmative  work  in  two 
other  divorce  actions  I  thought  I  might  as  well  take  it 
easy  this  time  and  let  her  do  it!  But  I  had  forgotten 
all  about  a  certain  deed  of  trust  I  had  made  in  Paris 
some  time  before. 

During  my  mining  activities  I  foresaw  the  calamity 
that  was  inevitable  and  acting  on  the  advice  of  an  in- 
competent attorney  I  foolishly  entered  into  a  trust 
agreement  with  my  wife  under  the  terms  of  which  I 
placed  all  my  property  in  the  hands  of  a  trustee.     In 


NUMBER   FOUR  313 

avoiding  a  possible  loss  I  ran  headfirst  into  a  dead  sure 
steal! 

As  soon  as  I  had  been  served  in  the  divorce  action 
I  began  suit  on  my  own  account  to  cancel  this  trust 
agreement.  It  had  always  been  a  nuisance  even  in  the 
days  when  wife  and  fond  mama  were  at  their  loving-est! 
Now  it  was  imperative  that  I  be  allowed  to  handle  my 
own  property  alone.  The  settlement  of  that  action  was 
a  long,  drawn-out  affair  as  compared  with  the  divorce 
action.  During  the  several  months  before  my  wife 
finally  won  (?)  her  case  the  newspapers  were  filled  daily 
with  sensational  articles  about  my  affairs  with  women 
I  had  never  even  seen!  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  the 
gentlemen  of  the  press  just  published  any  and  every 
photograph  of  a  pretty  woman  they  could  find  and 
named  her  as  one  of  the  unfortunate  objects  of  my 
attentions.  In  spite  of  this  my  wife's  able  counsel  had 
been  able  to  present  no  facts  to  the  Referee  that  could 
justify  him  in  recommending  a  decree  in  her  favor  — 
up  to  the  Tuesday  before  the  Saturday  on  which  he  was 
to  render  his  decision. 

It  never  dawned  on  me  that  this  was  the  case  until 
my  dear  old  friend,  Jim  Killduff,  who  had  been  following 
the  suit  more  closely  than  I  had  came  to  me  that 
Tuesday  night  and  congratulated  me!  **  You're  winning 
so  easily,  it's  a  laugh,"  he  exclaimed.  "Winning?"  I 
echoed  feebly.  **Do  you  mean  she  isn't  going  to  get 
her  divorce?"  "She  hasn't  a  chance  on  earth,"  replied 
Jim  gleefully.  "Every  charge  she  has  made  against 
you  has  been  stricken  from  the  Referee's  record.'* 
"Good  Lord,"  I  gasped,  "she's  got  to  win!  It's 
the  only  way  I  can  ever  get  this  trust  agreement 
busted!" 

The  result  of  our  conversation  I  can  not  set  forth  in 
detail.  The  fact  remains,  however,  that  before  that 
next  Saturday  the  Referee  had  presented  to  him  the 


314  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

evidence  necessary  to  make  his  course  of  duty  plain  — 
and  once  again  the  newspapers  had  grounds  (?)  for 
proclaiming  me  a  disciple  of  Solomon! 

Between  you  and  me,  gentle  reader,  Justice  must 
have  had  to  tighten  that  bandage  about  her  eyes  when 
she  learned  of  that  decree!  She  surely  must  have 
loosened  it  laughing! 

I  can  say,  however,  that  it  is  a  most  expensive  luxury 

—  being  divorced!  It*s  much  cheaper  to  use  the  active 
voice  of  that  verb! 

Marriages  are  made  in  heaven  —  canceled  in  Reno. 

I  have  had  many  sweethearts,  but  only  one  survives 

—  my  mother. 

If  a  man  steal  your  wife  don't  kill  him  —  caution 
him! 


Chapter  LXXIII 
SIR  BEERBOHM  TREE 


MOST  extraordinary  man  is  Beerbohm 
Tree.  Refined,  almost  aesthetic  in  man- 
ner yet  as  worldly  and  practical  as  the 
most  prosaic  merchant.  His  humor  is 
human  if  a  bit  cynical.  He  has  the 
manner  of  a  dreamer  and  an  eye  like  a 
City  man  or  an  American  gambler.  Among  those  he 
loves  he  is  nothing  but  a  boy  with  a  boyish  simplicity 
but  when  he  is  surrounded  by  uninteresting  acquaint- 
ances he  suggests  a  German  philosopher  or  Danish  poet 
—  in  his  impenetrable  reserve ! 

A  clever  man  is  Beerbohm  Tree  and  I  like  him. 
As  is  the  case  with  all  successful  players  especially  if 
they  have  the  good  sense  and  good  taste  to  present 
refined  art  he  has  many  enemies.  And  most  of  these 
are  members  of  his  own  profession!  These  malcontents 
have  the  effrontery  to  discuss  a  genius  who  has  so  far 
distanced  them  by  his  indefatigable  industry,  mentality 
and  application  as  to  leave  them  nowhere.  He  has 
succeeded  in  producing  dignified  plays  in  a  dignified 
manner  and  his  success  has  not  been  only  ** artistic." 
He  makes  enough  to  be  able  to  pay  $50,000  per  annum 
for  one  of  the  prettiest  playhouses  in  the  world ! 

I  smile  with  you  at  your  scoffers,  Mr.  Tree  (I  can't 
say  Sir  Beerbohm!).     My  hat's  off  to  you. 

Here   is   a   httle  anecdote  of  the   man   they   say   is 
characteristic. 

315 


3l6  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

He  had  been  dining  quite  late  —  yes,  and  well. 
When  the  party  broke  up  Tree  hailed  a  cab  and  jumped 
in  with  the  one  word,  '*Home,"  addressed  toward  the 
cabby.  That  artful  individual  saw  his  chance  for  a  fat 
fare  and  drove  off  without  inquiring  for  more  exphcit 
instructions.  After  he  had  let  his  horse  wander  about 
London  all  night  —  with  Tree  in  peaceful  slumber  inside 
—  the  cabby  peeked  in  through  his  httle  aperture  in  the 
roof  and  awoke  the  sleeping  player. 

''Where  shall  I  drive  you  to  now,  sir?"  queried  the 
cabby. 

"Home,  I  say,"  replied  Tree  angrily. 

"I  beg  pardon,  guv'nor,"  replied  the  cabby,  "but 
where  is  your  'ome,  sir?" 

Tree  opened  one  eye  long  enough  to  direct  a  look  full 
of  reproach  at  the  cabby. 

"You  don't  imagine  I'm  going  to  tell  every  common 
cabman  my  private  address,  do  you?" 


Chapter  LXXIV 
THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  STAGE 


AR  be  it  from  me  to  be  a  dusty  delver 
into  dates  1  But  a  word  as  to  the  origin 
of  the  profession  in  which  so  many  of  us 
have  toiled  so  many  years  may  not  be 
amiss,  especially  if  it  point  the  moral  or 
adorn  the  tale  I  have  in  mind.  And 
that  is  not  so  much  a  tale  as  a  protest  against  the 
customary  reverence  the  public  has  for  the  actor  who 
dares  essay  the  classic  roles.  It's  not  only  not  difficult 
to  play  a  classic  role.  It's  fifty  per  cent  easier  than  to 
play  a  modern  part! 
But  to  be  historical! 

It  was  almost  350  (or  only,  as  you  please)  years  ago 
that  the  first  properly  licensed  theatre  was  built  in 
London.  The  exact  date  was  1570.  It  was  called  the 
Black  Friars  Theatre. 

(And  to-day,  191 3,  there  are  a  dozen  or  so  on  one 
block,  on  one  side  of  one  block  in  Forty-second  street, 
New  York!) 

On  the  other  hand  it  is  marvelous  to  consider  the 
amount  of  discussion  one  causes  when  one  announces  a 
forth-coming  production  of  a  classic  play.  By  common 
impulse  the  critics  sharpen  their  quills  and  prepare  for 
the  onslaught!  How  dare  men  and  women  who  have 
been  known  to  wear  modern  garments  attractively  and 
in  style  even  attempt  to  enter  into  competition  with 
past  or  present  "masters"?  By  what  right  has  the 
modern  actor  forsaken  his  frock  coat  for  the  sock  and 
buskin? 

317 


3i8  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

But  again,  the  first  religious  spectacle  was  probably 
"St.  Catherine,"  a  miracle  play  mentioned  by  Mattheu 
Paris  as  having  been  written  by  Geoffrey,  a  Norman, 
afterwards  Abbot  of  St.  Albans,  and  played  at  Dun- 
stable Abbey  in  mo.  In  the  "Description  of  the  most 
noble  city  of  London"  by  Fitz  Stephen,  a  monk,  in 
treating  of  the  diversions  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
metropoHs  in  1 1 74,  says  that  while  the  plays  all  dealt 
with  holy  subjects  the  methods  of  the  merchants  who 
"presented"  the  attractions  were  anything  but  that. 
The  gentle  art  of  the  ballyhoo  was  evidently  well  known 
even  in  those  days  for  they  used  jugglers  and  buffoons 
and  minstrels  to  draw  the  crowds  up  to  the  box  office 
window.  When  the  clergy  awoke  to  what  was  going 
on  they  promptly  put  their  sandaled  feet  down  and 
stopped  the  money-making!  Monks  took  the  place  of 
the  unfrocked  actors  and  the  box  offices  and  theatres  all 
disappeared.  Thereafter  the  miracle  plays  were  enacted 
in  the  cathedrals  and  there  was  no  way  to  check  the 
gross  receipts! 

According  to  the  critics  the  classic  comedy  should 
never  be  played  by  an  actor  who  has  not  arrived  at  an 
age  that  physically  incapacitates  him  from  not  only 
looking  the  part  but  acting  it!  It  is  no  different  with 
classic  tragedy.  And  this  is  based,  perhaps,  on  the 
absurd  fallacy  that  the  classic  drama  is  most  difficult 
to  portray.     In  fact  it  is  the  easiest.     It  is  easily  proved. 

Take  any  one  of  the  old  comedies.  In  the  first  place 
they  create  their  own  atmosphere,  an  atmosphere  un- 
known to  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  out  of  one 
thousand.  The  costumes  are  of  brilfiant  coloring  and  in 
exquisite  taste  and  a  novelty  in  themselves.  Nine-tenths 
of  the  idioms  are  not  understood  by  the  audience  — 
and  that  is  always  most  attractive!  The  methods  of 
provoking  laughter  are  uncommon,  hence  sure-fire!  The 
play  is  a  classic,  therefore  beyond  criticism!     No  one  is 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  STAGE  319 

alive  to-day  who  can  judge  of  its  accuracy  —  so  it  must 
be  perfect!  And,  best  of  all,  it  is  guaranteed  to  be  in 
conformance  with  all  the  best  standards  —  by  tradition! 

A  tramp  could  make  a  success  with  a  modern  play 
with  half  this  much  in  its  favor! 

On  the  other  hand  take  the  modern  play.  You  know 
the  atmosphere.  You  live  in  it.  None  is  created.  It  is 
just  there.  Consequently  the  critics  wail  the  lack  of  it! 
The  costumes  are  simply  the  dull  prosaic  garments  of 
the  day.  There  isn't  any  novelty  to  be  found  there. 
The  language  is  understandable  —  perilous  fault!  The 
fun  is  provoked  by  well-known,  legitimate  methods  and 
is  accordingly  "stupid."  The  comedian  is  a  human 
being  —  and  "tiresome"  therefore! 

Mind  you,  dear  reader,  I  would  not  be  of  those  who 
wail  about  the  decline  of  the  drama  and  the  ascendency 
of  the  movies.  But  I  can't  escape  the  facts.  And  here 
is  another  angle  of  the  situation  which  perhaps  is  too 
often  overlooked. 

There  is  no  question  that  the  actor  of  to-day  is  living 
in  a  more  agreeable  environment  than  his  brother  of  a 
hundred  years  ago.  He  is  accepted  now  socially.  He 
was  a  gypsy  then.  His  opportunity  to  annex  a  large 
share  of  the  world's  goods  is  larger  to-day  than  ever  it 
was.  Yet  in  his  artistic  Kfe  he  is  less  fortunate  than  his 
confreres  of  even  twenty-five  years  ago. 

Why? 

Simply  because  we  have  lifted  the  curtain,  let  loose 
the  secrets  of  our  Httle  house,  discussed  our  art  with 
the  gambler  and  the  janitor! 

It  is  a  difficult  job  to  convince  a  friend  with  whom 
you're  dining  that  you  are  capable  of  playing  Hamlet. 
He  can't  disassociate  you  from  the  evening  clothes  you 
wear! 

Abroad  the  man  and  the  actor  are  separate  beings. 
Here,  through  our  own  fault,  we  are  always  ourselves. 


320  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

And  so  it  must  continue  to  be  until  the  old  back  door 
keeper  is  reinstated,  the  green  room  refurbished  and  — 
the  curtain  dropped!  Let  the  janitor  be  silenced  and 
the  stage  door  barred  and  securely  fastened!  Then  and 
not  until  then  may  we  hope  to  attain  truly  artistic 
results. 


In  Hamlet 

/(  bad  always  been  my  desire  to  appear  in  Shakespearean  roles 


^^all 

wM          ^ 

^  s 

S' 

JM^                   X. 

i.         ^^f 

Chapter  LXXV 

MY  STAGE-STRUCK   VALET 

T  was  back  in  the  early  nineties  that  an 
invitation  was  extended  to  me  to  appear 
in  an  all-star  performance  of  **  Richard 
the  Third  "  in  a  monster  benefit  for  some 
charitable  institution.  (My  friends,  the 
critics,  permit  me  to  play  tragedy  — 
for  charity!)  With  my  acceptance  of  the  invitation  I 
also  sent  word  I  should  appreciate  it  if  a  "bit"  (a  small 
part)  were  given  to  my  valet  to  play.  This  valet  of 
mine  was  the  most  woefully  stage-struck  individual  I 
ever  saw.  It  was  his  only  fault.  Otherwise  he  was 
without  a  blemish  as  a  valet.  He  had  begged  me  for 
months  to  let  him  go  on  in  one  of  my  productions  but 
I  had  never  had  an  opportunity  until  now. 

The  messenger  sent  fromi  Richmond  through  Lord 
Stanley  to  Richard  on  the  field  of  battle  was  the  part 
my  valet  was  to  play  and  his  line  v/as  "A  gentleman 
called  Stanlev  desires  admittance  from  the  Earl  of 
Richmond."  For  weeks  prior  to  the  benefit  matinee 
that  valet  repeated  his  line  aloud!  If  I  asked  for  my 
slippers  he  brought  them  mumbling,  **A  gentleman 
called  Stanley  desires  admittance  from  the  Earl  of 
Richm.ond."  No  matter  what  I  said  to  him  he  prefaced 
his  answer  with  this  line.  It  got  on  my  nerves  to  such 
an  extent  I  told  him  I'd  dismiss  him  if  he  said  it  again 
in  my  hearing.  It  was  no  use.  Every  time  I  turned 
my  head  I  saw  my  valet  repeating  "A  gentleman  called 
Stanley  desires  admittance  from  the  Earl  of  Richmond." 

321 


322  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

We  put  in  a  long  rehearsal  session  the  morning  of  the 
matinee.  I  was  so  much  occupied  with  my  own  per- 
formance I  paid  no  attention  to  the  valet.  I  forgot 
even  to  inform  him  about  the  costume  he  should  wear. 
As  I  was  finishing  my  make-up  and  within  a  moment  or 
two  of  the  rise  of  the  curtain  my  valet  appeared  in  the 
doorway  of  my  dressing-room  with  a  request  that 
I  look  him  over.  What  I  saw  sent  me  into  a  paroxysm 
of  laughter.  There  he  was,  250  pounds  of  him,  in  a 
green  hauberk  extending  only  to  the  top  of  his  stomach  I 
(It  should  have  covered  him  to  his  knees.)  Blue  tights 
pulled  over  the  generous  paunch  met  the  lingering  and 
deficient  hauberk.  Scarlet  boots  were  fitted  with  spurs 
so  huge  as  to  stagger  any  tragedian!  The  helmet  whose 
side  chains  should  have  touched  his  shoulders  sat  atop 
his  head  like  a  chestnut  on  an  apple  with  the  side  chains 
tickling  the  tops  of  his  ears!  As  a  finish  he  had  the 
largest  sword  I  ever  saw  strapped  to  his  side! 

There  was  no  time  to  change  so  I  suppressed  my 
laughter  and  told  him  for  the  fiftieth  time  to  go  to  the 
left  first  entrance  and  when  he  saw  my  back  toward 
him  and  heard  me  say,  "Ofi^  with  his  head,  so  much  for 
Buckingham,"  to  rush  on  and  with  all  his  vigor  shout 
his  line.  The  valet  promptly  began,  *'A  gentleman 
called  — "  but  I  stopped  him  and  he  started  ofi"  as 
proud  as  a  peacock  and  as  confident  as  possible. 

The  moment  came.  Out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye  I 
saw  the  valet  waiting  in  his  place.  In  his  eagerness  he 
was  like  a  tiger  ready  to  spring  on  his  prey.  I  gave 
the  cue.  On  came  the  valet!  Then  I  turned  and  with 
all  the  force  at  my  command  snarled,  "How  now?" 

The  valet  began  to  fall  backwards!  Nearer  and 
nearer  the  footfights  he  tottered  until  his  feet  became 
entangled  in  the  spurs  —  and  down  he  went  flat  on  his 
back!  Picking  himself  up  he  managed  to  rescue  the 
funny  little  helmet  from  the  footlights  trough,  put  it  on 


MY  STAGE-STRUCK  VALET  323 

his  head,  look  for  the  exact  center  of  the  stage,  reach  it 
carefully,  face  the  audience  (with  his  back  toward  me!) 
and  shouted,  **A  lady  named  Stanley  is  downstairs!" 

Of  course  everybody  died!  It  was  really  my  fault. 
I  had  omitted  telhng  him  that  in  tragedy  actors  save 
their  voices  at  rehearsal  and  of  course  my  rage  was 
altogether  unexpected  by  him  as  I  had  previously  said 
"How  now?"  in  a  conversational  tone.  Of  course 
every  one  of  my  friends  insisted  my  valet  was  not  to 
blame  inasmuch  as  he  had  been  making  just  announce- 
ments every  day  of  his  Hfe  to  either  John  Mason  or  me 
in  our  little  flat  in  the  West  thirties!  But  I  always  set 
it  down  as  the  best  proof  in  the  world  that  valets  are 
born  and  not  made. 

Tragedy  is  the  husband  of  humor;  comedy  the  child. 

Many  comedians  either  make  you  laugh  or  frighten 
you  to  death. 


Chapter  LXXVI 


GEORGE  C.  TYLER 

F  all  the  managers  now  producing  plays 
in  America  there  is  one  who  stands  like 
Caesar  alone,  looking  down  upon  the  vic- 
torious battle  field  of  success.  If  there 
are  any  laurel  wreaths  for  sale  in  your 
neighborhood,  gentle  reader,  buy  one  and 
bestow  it  upon  the  brow  of  George  C.  Tyler.  Patient,  keen, 
gentle  and  aggressive,  he  merits  it.  He  has  more  artistic 
blood  coursing  through  his  veins  than  any  man  I  know 
and,  better  still,  he  knows  how  to  exude  it.  Courageous 
even  to  being  stubborn  he  never  allows  anyone  to  rob 
him  of  his  convictions.  Once  he  embarks  on  any  pro- 
ject he  is  as  unmovable  as  the  Sphinx  whose  counter- 
part appears  in  his  spectacular  triumph,  "The  Garden  of 
Allah." 

Although  he  owns  wonderful  business  ability  he  never 
allows  commercialism  to  influence  him  in  the  production 
of  a  play.  His  knowledge  of  the  ethics  of  the  theatre 
equals  the  masters'  and  he  can  fly  with  the  speed  of  a 
bird  from  tragedy  to  comedy.  Here  is  no  purveyor  of 
established  successes  but  a  discoverer  of  them!  He  is 
truly  a  servant  of  the  masses.  And  with  all  his  success 
he  remains  as  urbane  as  when  he  began.  He  has  fought 
his  battles  alone  and  unaided;  borne  his  failures  with 
fortitude;  accepted  defeat  with  the  same  equanimity  as 
success.  And  now  he  stands  one  of  the  representative 
producing  managers  of  the  world! 

I  have  been  associated  with  him  only  once  and  it  was 
one  of  the  most  delightful  experiences  of  my  career. 

324 


GEORGE   C   TYLER  325 

Shall  I  ever  again  enjoy  that  pleasure? 

I  wonder. 

August,  1913 

It  was  a  long  time  ago  I  wrote  the  preceding  en- 
comium. To-day  I  am  suing  Mr.  Tyler  for  a  large  sum 
of  money  for  breach  of  contract!  But  I  meant  it  when 
I  wrote  it  and  I  mean  it  still  I     And  it  goes  as  it  stands! 


Chapter  LXXVII 


I   FIND  THE  VERY  BEST  PHYLLIS 

ATE  in  the  person  of  George  Broadhurst 
I  may  seem  incongruous  to  those  who 
r  know  that  dramatist  —  but  Fate  is  not 
to  be  held  accountable  for  his  guises! 
And  it  was  through  Broadhurst  that 
Fate  brought  onto  my  horizon  a  young 
woman  who  presently  was  to  save  my  life  —  and  that 
is  the  least  of  countless  benefits  she  has  bestowed  upon 
me! 

Broadhurst  spent  most  of  his  time  in  Southern  Cah- 
fornia  from  1907  to  1909  and  not  a  httle  of  it  at  my 
beach  home.  After  my  long  run  of  failures  I  hoped  I 
had  landed  a  winner  in  his  new  play  "The  Captain'* 
which  I  took  to  New  York  for  production  there.  He  ac- 
companied me  and  undertook  to  select  the  cast.  It  was 
he  who  engaged  as  my  leading  woman  Miss  Margaret 
Moreland. 

The  play  was  a  fizzle  as  complete  as  any  of  the 
others.  Until  it  proved  a  disastrous  failure  I  never 
knew  it  was  not  all  Broadhurst's.  He  told  me  after- 
wards he  had  written  it  in  collaboration  with  some 
"unknown!'* 

To  round  out  my  season  I  revived  several  of  my  tried 
and  trusted  old  plays  and  did  fairly  good  business  on 
the  road.  If  I  accomplished  nothing  else  that  season 
could  be  set  down  by  me  as  a  success  inasmuch  as  I 

discovered    in   Miss    Moreland's    acting    of    Phyllis   in 

326 


AIargaret  Mokeland 
Tbe  very  best  Pbyllis 


I   FIND  THE  VERY  BEST  PHYLLIS  327 

"When  We  were  Twenty-One,"  the  finest  performance 
that  role  ever  received  —  and  I  knew  that  in  her  lay  the 
ability  to  become  a  really  great  emotional  actress  —  a 
distinct  discovery  in  these  days. 

When  I  received  an  offer  at  the  close  of  the  season  to 
go  to  Los  Angeles  and  appear  in  a  repertoire  of  my 
plays  at  the  Auditorium  Theatre  where  a  new  stock 
company  was  being  formed,  I  accepted.  On  my  arrival 
there  I  found  the  whole  city  wildly  excited  over  this 
first  attempt  at  opposition  which  the  Emperor  of  Stage 
Land  in  Southern  California,  Oliver  Morosco,  had  ever 
been  called  upon  to  throttle.  It  was  a  battle  royal 
while  it  lasted.  The  Auditorium,  which  seats  3500,  was 
packed  at  every  performance  —  at  very  cheap  prices. 
During  the  several  months  of  my  engagement  Morosco 
spent  many  thousands  of  dollars  tying  up  all  the  plays 
available  for  stock  performances  he  could  lay  his  hands 
on.  Also  my  engagement  served  to  increase  the  salaries 
of  a  number  of  Morosco's  actors  who  he  feared  were 
about  to  desert  him.  For  me  it  was  a  brief  hohday  and 
amusing. 

I  recruited  a  company  in  Los  Angeles  following  this 
engagement,  engaging  Miss  Moreland  as  my  leading 
woman,  and  opened  in  Phoenix,  Arizona,  playing  my 
way  across  the  country  and  arriving  in  New  York  in 
the  holiday  season  in  19 11.  It  was  during  this  cross- 
country tour  that  I  received  a  telegram  from  George  C. 
Tyler  which  resulted  in  my  proving  to  not  a  few  doubt- 
ing Thomases  that  I  could  **come  back." 

I  have  constantly  referred  to  Fate  taking  my  cue 
from  Homer.  Now  I  learn  he  used  this  word  simply 
to  save  time!  It  seems  it  is  "the  fates"  who  have 
directed  my  course  through  life.  With  those  three 
little  maids  from  school,  Clotho,  Lachesis  and  Atropos 
leading  me  along  with  their  silken  threads  through  my 
nose,  allowing  me  to  go  on  and  on  and  then  reeling  me 


328  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

back  again  as  one  toys  with  a  yellowtail,  is  it  any 
wonder  I've  made  so  many  failures?  Had  I  only  known 
I  should  have  given  up  long  ago! 

Young  ladies,  you've  certainly  made  it  warm  for  me  I 

A  love  scene  on  the  stage,  properly  played,  leads  to 
recriminations  —  if  an  explanation  is  demanded  by  the 
one  left  at  home. 

An  "American  beauty"  is  a  flower  which  seeks  to 
adorn  a  coronet.  Wear  one  as  a  boutonniere  —  but 
never,  never  marry  one! 

Marriage  in  the  profession  should  be  made  obligatory. 


Chapter  LXXVIII 
THE   LAMBS  CLUB 


HAT    a     remarkable     institution     is    the 
Lambs  Club! 

I  say  institution  because  in  its  de- 
velopment during  the  past  twenty  years 
it  has  grown  from  a  cozy  little  rendez- 
vous for  the  tired  actors  after  their 
night's  work  to  a  clearing  house  for  plays,  sketches  and 
engagements  of  artists. 

To  visit  that  beautiful  home  on  Forty-fourth  Street 
between  the  hours  of  one  and  two  o'clock  is  to  imagine 
you  are  in  a  business  man's  luncheon  club  down  town. 
As  I  look  back  upon  the  many  years  when,  of  a  cold 
winter's  night,  I  would  wander  into  the  little  Twenty- 
sixth  Street  home  of  the  Lambs  —  I  sigh  deeply!  Then 
I  was  sure  to  find  a  greeting  from  dear  old  Clay  Greene, 
from  that  budding  genius  Gus  Thomas.  There  were 
there  to  welcome  me  also  the  erratic  Sydney  Rosenfeldt, 
suave  Frank  Carlisle,  dominant  Wilton  Lackaye,  brilliant 
Maurice  Barrymore,  dear  old  Lincoln  (now  passed  away) 
and  countless  others,  including  clever  Henry  Dixey,  then 
at  the  zenith  of  his  success,  the  Holland  boys  and  — 
but  then  whv  continue? 

It  was  then  we  knew  how  to  spend  the  time,  how  to 
regale  ourselves  and  how  to  pass  many,  many  happy 
hours  with  anecdote  and  song.  All  the  members  knew 
each  other  in  those  days.  I,  among  many  others,  never 
entered  the  club  without  embracing  that  dearest  of 
men,  George  Fawcett.     There  were  no  favored  few  in 

329 


330  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

those  days.  It  was  one  for  all  and  all  for  one.  Clever 
John  Mason  and  that  equally  talented  artist,  George 
Nash,  were  the  staunchest  upholders  of  this  slogan. 

How  different  now! 

As  I  enter  the  Lambs  Club  today  I  scarcely  know  a 
member.  Almost  all  of  the  old  guard  have  passed 
away.  As  I  look  into  the  faces  of  the  many  unknown 
to  me  it  seems  almost  impossible  that  I  have  not  wan- 
dered into  the  wrong  building!  But  presently  I  find 
Gus  Thomas  and  a  few  remaining  members  of  the  old 
flock  —  and  then  all  is  well  once  more. 

Thomas  has  developed  into  the  greatest  American 
dramatist  —  as  I  knew  he  would.  To  be  sure  now  and 
then  one  of  his  plays  fails  to  meet  with  favor  while  per- 
haps one  of  the  anaemic  Broadhurst's  sensual  plays  is 
meeting  with  success,  but  Thomas's  plays  will  live  and 
be  in  the  Hbraries  of  America  when  the  products  of  these 
ephemeral  writers  have  been  consigned  to  the  waste 
baskets  of  obscurity. 

I  consider  Thomas  not  only  a  great  dramatist  but  a 
great  American.  I  am  sure  if  he  had  entered  politics 
the  world  would  have  recognized  him  as  a  great  states- 
man. With  a  suavity  of  manner,  full  of  repose  and  a 
geniality  which  few  possess,  Thomas  exerts  on  an  audi- 
ence a  combined  feeling  of  restfulness  and  awe.  I  never 
heard  him  utter  an  unkind  word  to  anybody  nor  discuss 
an  actor's  or  author's  ability  with  anything  approaching 
antagonism.  He  goes  along  quietly  and  unassumingly, 
writes  a  couple  of  failures  and  then  —  bang!  —  he  hits 
you  in  the  eye  with  a  play  that  has  a  knock-out  punch. 

Such  plays  as  "The  Witching  Hour"  and  "As  a  Man 
Thinks"  will  be  acted  when  he  and  his  many  admirers 
shall  have  long  since  passed  into  the  great  beyond. 

Augustus  Thomas  I  count  the  Pinero  of  America  — 
and  a  true  American  gentleman.  We  have  been  friends 
for  twenty  years  and  I  am  proud  of  that  friendship. 


/u/t^ifr- 


As  Fagin  in  Oliver  Twist 
'Fagin  was  a  catnedian  " 


THE  LAMBS  CLUB  331 

In  the  same  spirit  of  thanksgiving  I  may  mention  my 
friendship  for  John  Mason.  Surely  the  American  pubhc 
must  be  proud  of  this  splendid  player.  John  and  I 
were  very  dear  pals  in  our  younger  days  and  we  have 
kept  up  the  friendship  to  date.  In  those  days  John  was 
prone  to  indulgence  in  all  the  existing  vagaries  of  the 
moment  and  never  took  himself  seriously  until  recently. 
But  now  he  has  settled  down  and  showed  his  real 
merits  as  an  actor. 

The  fact  that  he  is  a  great  favorite  in  London  speaks 
volumes  for  his  capabihty. 

I  sincerely  hope  that  John  Mason  may  be  spared  for 
many  years  to  show  this  great  American  public  that 
there  are  a  few  American  artists  still  capable  of  deliver- 
ing the  goods. 

John!  I  wish  you  continued  success,  for  you  deserve 
it! 

In  casting  a  play  nowadays,  never  seek  ability,  seek 
only  ** personality." 

The  true  philosophy  of  Hfe  is  to  try  to  achieve  some- 
thing and  when  you  have  —  forget  it. 

Put  a  uniform  on  the  average  middle  class  "American" 
and  you  make  of  him  a  vulgar  despot. 


Chapter  LXXIX 
I   "COME  BACK" 


YLER'S  telegram  contained  an  offer  to 
play  Fagin  in  an  all-star  production  of 
"Oliver  Twist"  to  be  produced  in  Feb- 
ruary, 191 2,  on  the  occasion  of  the 
Dickens'  centenary  celebration.  It  had 
been  a  long  time,  the  longest  time  in  my 
entire  stage  career,  that  I  had  been  without  a  successful 
characterization  in  New  York  —  and  the  thought  of 
giving  my  interpretation  of  the  famous  Jew  appealed 
to  me.     I  accepted. 

The  production  was  very  good.  The  company  was 
quite  capable.  Associated  with  me  were  Constance 
Collier,  Lyn  Harding,  Marie  Doro  and  other  equally 
well-know^n  and  finished  artists.  Fuller  Mellish's  per- 
formance of  Mr.  Grimwig  was  one  of  the  most  delightful 
bits  of  character  acting  I  ever  saw. 

We  opened  at  the  New  Amsterdam  Theatre  to  a  capac- 
ity audience  and  tremendous  business  was  the  rule  dur- 
ing the  entire  engagement.  It  w^as  a  fine  playhouse  in 
which  to  stage  such  a  pretentious  production  as  Tyler 
had  given  the  play.  There  is  Kttle  doubt  that  "OHver 
Twist"  might  have  remained  at  the  New  Amsterdam 
almost  indefinitely  had  it  not  been  that  other,  earlier 
bookings  compelled  us  to  move  out.  The  demand  for 
seats  was  so  great,  however,  that  Charles  Frohman 
welcomed  us  at  the  Empire  Theatre  where,  much  to  my 
surprise  (for  it  is  altogether  too  small  and  "intimate" 
a  place  for  such  a  production  as  this),  it  continued  to 

"turn  'em  away." 

332 


I   "COME  BACK"  333 

The  critics  were  all  very  enthusiastic.  It  amused  me 
not  a  little  to  detect  in  several  of  the  reviews  expressions 
of  surprise  that  I  was  able  to  portray  Fagin  to  the 
reviewer's  satisfaction.  Of  course  I  knew  all  along  that 
the  Rialto  and  Park  Row  were  a  unit  in  declaring  that 
I  could  never  "come  back."  I  think  perhaps  the  simple 
fact  that  I  made  Fagin  a  humorous  old  codger  instead 
of  the  sinister  object  our  very  best  tragedians  have 
always  painted  him  may  account  for  the  laudatory 
notices  my  work  received. 

But  there  can't  be  any  question  about  Fagin.  He 
was  a  comedian  —  positively!  Think  of  his  telling 
Charhe  Bates  he  would  give  "dear  little  Ohver  a  treat" 
—  by  letting  him  sleep  in  that  awful,  awful  bed  of  his! 
Oh  yes,  Fagin  never  stopped  having  silent  laughs.  And 
I  liked  him  for  it. 

While  we  were  playing  to  packed  houses  at  every 
performance  at  the  Empire  Tyler  sailed  for  Europe 
assuring  us  he  would  send  us  out  on  tour  after  the 
Empire  Theatre  engagement.  He  said  we  were  to  go  to 
the  Coast  and  continue  the  tour  throughout  the  follow- 
ing season.  As  a  result  I  turned  down  a  very  flattering 
offer  to  appear  in  New  York  that  fall.  Had  he  not 
failed  to  keep  his  promise  I  should  have  been  spared  a 
year  of  physical  suffering! 

But  he  did  break  his  promise.  A  week  after  the 
Titanic  disaster  we  received  notice  that  the  season  was 
at  an  end  so  far  as  "Oliver  Twist"  was  concerned. 

And  now,  having  "come  back"  I  foolishly  determined 
to  go  back  —  and  I  started  for  Cahfornia  once  more. 
I've  always  thought  Greeley's  advice  should  have  read, 
"Go  West,  old  man!" 


Chapter  LXXX 
I   "GO  BACK" 


HE  summer  of  191 2  proved  very  event- 
ful! 

Closing    the    "  Oliver   Twist "    season 


early  in  May  I  headed  for  California  to 
superintend  the  development  of  my 
ranch  at  San  Jacinto.  Immediately  on 
my  arrival  I  began  the  laying  out  and  planting  of  a 
hundred  acres  of  oranges,  lemons  and  grape  fruit.  It 
proved   most  fascinating  work. 

During  the  three  months  I  put  in  at  the  ranch  I  lived 
in  a  big  tent  with  a  party  of  friends  including  Miss 
Moreland  and  her  married  sister.  I  was  up  with  the 
birds  and  in  bed  by  9  o'clock  every  night.  Employing 
as  I  was  twenty  men  and  ten  six-horse  teams,  ten 
four-horse  and  three  ten-horse,  my  job  of  supervision 
was  necessarily  a  big  one.  I  would  go  from  one 
gang  to  another  climbing  hills  which  in  a  few  days 
would  be  levelled!  Oh  it  was  big  work  —  adjusting 
the  miles  of  pipe  lines  and  cement  flumes  which  we 
manufactured  ourselves  during  the  process  of  grad- 
ing, preparing  the  holes  to  receive  the  trees  which 
were  being  prepared  and  nourished  at  the  nursery  of 
a  Mr.  Wilson  of  Hemet,  two  miles  away,  seeing  that 
the  hot  ground  was  properly  cooled  by  the  water  I 
had  developed  from  a  concealed  spring  in  the  moun- 
tains and  doing  the  thousand  and  one  other  things 
necessary  to  insure  the  successful  development  of  an 
orange  grove. 

334 


I  "GO  BACK"  335 

I  had  previously  given  the  work  a  great  deal  of 
thought  and  study.  It  requires  a  great  deal.  The 
average  orange  grower  neglects  the  study  of  the  planting 
and  rearing  of  the  trees  and  the  result  is  more  often 
failure  than  success.  An  orange  tree  will  not  nourish 
alone  and  neglected  any  more  than  a  baby  and  it  is  in 
its  early  hfe,  hke  the  infant,  that  it  must  be  watched. 
The  young  tree  should  first  be  carefully  examined  as  to 
its  vigor  and  stamina;  next  its  foundation  or  roots  must 
be  well  looked  after  and  handled  tenderly  in  its  up- 
rooting in  the  nursery;  extreme  care  expressed  in  the 
removal  and  transplanting.  It  should  be  transported, 
if  the  weather  be  hot,  during  the  early  morning  hours, 
packed  in  manure,  well  watered  and  the  roots  covered 
by  canvas  or  burlap.  The  holes  should  be  kept  moist 
all  the  previous  evening  to  cool  the  earth  and  in  the 
planting  all  the  roots  should  be  carefully  separated  and 
spread  out.  Directly  a  row  is  planted  it  should  be 
deluged  with  w^ater  for  six  to  eight  hours  or  longer. 
Once  a  week  for  ten  years  the  ground  should  be  culti- 
vated and  disturbed  and  every  year,  unless  the  soil  is 
very  rich,  the  trees  should  be  fertihzed.  An  orchard 
should  be  gone  over  at  least  every  other  day  for  three 
years  when  by  that  time  it  can  take  care  of  itself  with  a 
httle  attention  and  be  made  a  most  profitable  invest- 
ment. But  it  won't  thrive  on  its  own  and  you  can't 
run  an  orange  grove  living  three  thousand  miles  away 
nor  intrust  it  to  the  management  of  the  average  care 
taker.  Go  to  it  personally  and  it  will  prove  a  winner 
with  a  chance  of  clearing  one  thousand  dollars  an  acre 
annually. 

Faith  is  the  harbor  of  the  unwary  into  which  the  ship 
of  ignorance  tranquilly  sails. 


Chapter  LXXXI 

DAVID  BELASCO 

HAT  an  intellectual  giant  is  David  Be- 
lasco!  The  most  conspicious  man  asso- 
ciated with  the  American  stage  to-day. 
His  accomplishments  have  been  colossal. 
Even  Irving,  Pouissard,  Charles  Keane 
and  many  other  artists  of  their  day, 
who  have  devoted  their  lives  to  Art,  bow  in  obeisance 
to  the  modern  David. 

Think  w^hat  this  gentleman  has  accomplished!  He 
has  given  to  the  world  David  Warfield  and  made  him 
a  master;  Blanche  Bates,  Mrs.  Carter  and  many  others 
of  equal  talent.  Produced  plays  that  will  down  to 
history  among  the  classics;  modernized  stagecraft  to 
the  extent  that  one  never  realizes  they  are  in  a  theatre 
when  privileged  to  witness  one  of  the  Belasco  produc- 
tions. Yet,  with  all  his  wondrous  powers  and  attain- 
ments, he  is  never  in  evidence,  only  his  handiwork. 
He  has  built  the  only  playhouse  worthy  the  name  in 
America.  It  suggests  the  old  Irving  Lyceum  in  Lon- 
don, and  one  approaches  the  portals  of  the  Belasco 
Theatre  with  awe  and  reverence. 

I  have  known  him  for  over  thirty  years,  and  he  is  as 
modest  as  he  is  clever:  every  angle  of  our  Art  at  his 
finger  tips.  A  gentleman,  scholar  and  Artist!  A  Man, 
is  David  Belasco,  Dean  of  the  American  Drama. 


336 


David  Belasco 

An  intellectual  giant 


Chapter  LXXXJI 


n 


AUTHOR — AUTHOR 


OT  so  long  ago  I  was  present  at  the  first 
performance  of  a  play,  and  during  its 
presentation  I  was  shocked  beyond  my 
power  to  describe  by  an  incident  at  the 
same  time  disgusting  and  inconceivably 
vulgar.  The  play  itself  —  a  wearisome 
thing  —  was  crude  and  altogether  impossible. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  act,  a  half  dozen  paid 
ushers  applauded  valiantly.  Before  they  could  become 
wearied  by  their  difficult  task,  a  huge,  bulky  man 
appeared  before  the  curtain.  He  ambled  slowly  to  the 
center  of  the  stage  where  he  stood  still  for  perhaps 
fifteen  seconds  as  if  to  enable  the  audience  to  contem- 
plate him  in  repose. 

Then  this  individual  shifted  his  weight  from  one  leg 
to  the  other,  still  keeping  silent.  There  he  stood,  a 
sneer  distorting  his  features,  poised  on  one  leg,  the  left 
foot  pointing  toward  the  right.  He  wore  an  ill-fitting 
evening  suit  with  an  abundance  of  shirt  front,  very 
much  mussed,  protruding  from  the  confines  of  the 
waistcoat.  His  face,  unwashed,  suggested  a  cross  be- 
tween a  Bill  Sykes  and  a  Caliban.  Obfique,  thin  slits  con- 
cealed a  pair  of  green-white  eyes.  A  strong,  wide  jaw 
that  opened  and  shut  like  the  snap  of  an  alligator's  was 
tilted  forward  and  upward  at  the  puzzled  spectators. 

Finally  the  person,  the  author  of  the  drivel  wc  had 
patiently  listened  to,  leaned  over  the  footlights  and 
casting  a  look  toward   the  woman   for  whom   he   had 

337 


338  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

deserted  home,  wife  and  children,  literally  snarled  at 
the  audience. 

**I  wrote  this  play  for  the  elect,'*  he  declared  fero- 
ciously. 

A  perceptible  shudder  ran  through  the  house.  Many 
men  and  women  rose  from  their  seats  and  left  the 
theatre,  refusing  to  remain  to  hear  the  incoherent  and 
egotistical  remarks  of  this  revolting  person. 

I  have  known  this  brute  for  twenty  years,  and  in  all 
that  time  I  have  never  heard  one  human  being  speak 
anything  except  ill  of  him.  Managers  avoid  him. 
Artists  loathe  him.  Authors  despise  him.  A  moral 
and  physical  coward,  this  man  without  a  friend,  wanders 
from  East  to  West,  vulgarly  attempting  to  foist  upon  a 
long-suffering  and  all-too-easily  deceived  pubhc,  the 
woman  whose  chief  claim  to  public  notice  is  the  fact 
that  she  was  named  as  co-respondent  in  the  divorce 
action  obtained  by  his  wife. 

He  continues  to  write  plays  of  the  underworld  with 
inspirations  obtained  in  the  sewers  of  humanity  and 
founded  on  ideas  purloined  from  departed  authors  or 
stolen  from  the  living  too  weak  to  protect  themselves. 

His  blustering,  bullying  tactics  have  enabled  him  to 
push  his  way  upwards  to  some  success  —  but  no  one 
envies  him.     All  who  know  him  "have  his  number.'* 

I  have  often  wondered  how  he  has  escaped  bodily 
injury.  No  woman  is  safe  from  his  insults.  I  know 
one  young  woman  who  went  to  him  in  search  of  an 
engagement.  His  first  question  was  so  dastardly  as  to 
cause  her  to  burst  into  tears,  and  she  ran  from  his 
presence  in  hysterics.  When  this  young  woman*s  uncle 
learned  of  it  he  loaded  a  revolver  and  started  on  this 
playwright's  track.  But  the  tears  and  entreaties  of  his 
wife  and  his  niece  stopped  him. 

Will  the  world  ever  be  rid  of  this  form  of  human 
parasite? 


"AUTHOR  — AUTHOR"  339 

I  wonder. 

The  antithesis  of  this  person  is  another  author  equally 
despised.  He  is  a  little,  pale  person  who  writes  problem 
plays  and  has  met  with  much  success.  He  never  drinks 
or  smokes.  In  fact  he  poses  as  a  paragon  of  all  the 
virtues. 

He  once  wrote  me  an  insulting  letter  accusing  me  of 
uttering  profane  remarks  concerning  a  certain  business 
transaction  between  us.  I  never  answered  it,  but  have 
it  in  my  possession.     It  may  prove  useful  some  day. 

This  beauty,  who  also  has  a  wife  and  children,  came 
West  some  few  years  ago  accompanied  by  a  woman 
whom  he  introduced  to  many  persons  as  his  wife.  I 
knew  she  was  not,  but  kept  my  counsel.  One  day  we 
were  discussing  a  play  which  he  had  promised  to  write 
for  me.  I  asked  him  why  he  did  not  divorce  his  wife 
or  insist  on  her  divorcing  him.  He  blandly  replied: 
"Great  Scott,  I've  tried  everything  to  induce  her  to  do 
so,  but  she  doesn't  beheve  in  divorce.  Besides,  she  is 
a  Christian." 

Fancy  this  pious  little  man  saying  this. 

He  goes  merrily  on  his  way,  hving  a  dual  life  —  the 
woman  of  his  easy  choice  provided  for  far  better  than 
his  wife  and  children.  And  he  writes  plays  deahng  with 
moral  problems!  He  receives  very  large  royalties  and 
basks  in  the  sunshine  of  his  own  hypocrisy. 

And  this  individual  has  had  the  audacity  to  criticise 
my  actions  and  elect  himself  the  censor  of  my  various 
attitudes. 

Well,  let  him.  I  would  not  exchange  my  conscience 
for  his  for  all  his  affluence.  And  yet,  from  his  point 
of  view,  he  is  right.  The  world  applauds  his  plays. 
No  one  seems  to  interfere  with  his  private  affairs.  He 
is  received  by  all  his  fellow  club  members  with  imper- 
sonal respect.  The  wide  white  way  is  always  open  to 
him  and  the  woman.     There  no  one  ever  pushes  them 


340  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

aside.  The  legal  wife  and  children  are  unknown  to 
cruel,  gay  Broadway.  The  narrow  paths  of  the  meadows 
and  lanes  of  the  suburban  retreat  in  which  this  success- 
ful author  has  his  family  housed  are  their  only  byways. 
Through  them  they  slowly  tread  —  to  the  httle  church 
and  beyond  it  to  the  graveyard,  towards  which  the 
wife  and  mother  ever  sets  her  gaze  —  as  if  in  prayerful 
hope. 

And  the  author  of  successful  plays  is  content. 

He  knows  his  wife  is  a  Christian. 

What  is  he? 

I  wonder. 

I  would  rather  sell  fresh  eggs  from  the  end  of  my 
private  car  in  one  night  stands  —  than  barter  impure 
ones  on  the  stage  of  a  leading  New  York  playhouse. 

An  agnostic  objects  to  salaries  for  draped  preachers 
and  to  temples  whose  roofs  prohibit  thought  from  per- 
meating the  realm  of  inspiration. 

Fact  is  the  whiplash  that  scourges  faith. 


Chapter  LXXXIII 
MUSHROOM   MANAGERS 


HE  past  year  has  been  an  appalling  one 
for  the  mushroom  producing  manager. 
I  mean  those  insolent  young  men  near- 
ing  the  thirties,  who  by  accident  or 
some  unknown  reason  secure  control 
of  musical  comedies  written  by  some 
obscure  author  and  after  interesting  friends  to  the 
extent  of  investing  capital  enough  to  enable  them  to 
produce  the  aforesaid  comedies,  they  launch  their  pro- 
ductions and  sometimes  get  them  over. 

They  look  about  for  the  best  available  talent,  estab- 
lish salaries  that  make  it  prohibitive  for  legitimate 
producers  to  sustain,  and  calmly  go  on  their  way.  If 
they  fail  they  can  assign  the  production  to  the  store- 
house and  leave  their  artists  in  any  town  or  city  where 
they  come  a  cropper.  If  they  succeed  with  their  first 
venture  they  at  once  organize  tv/o  or  three  road  com- 
panies and  go  through  the  country  circusing  their  first 
accidental  success.  They  establish  themselves  in  ex- 
pensive offices;  engage  a  staff  and  go  at  once  into  the 
producing  game  seriously,  seeking  the  best  authors  and 
composers  and  outbidding  managers  of  standing,  and 
endeavor  to  secure  prevailing  European  successes,  or 
produce  original  plays  of  their  own.  Naturally,  their 
lack  of  training  and  experience  is  a  handicap  and  their 
first  success  is  seldom  followed  by  another.  Tw^o  or 
three  successive  failures  soon  put  them  on  the  shelf 
and   they  seek   the   Bankruptcy   Court   to   avoid   their 

34' 


342  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

creditors.  Artists  are  left  stranded  with  an  inflated 
idea  of  their  respective  values  and  generally  indulge  in 
a  well  merited  vacation. 

They  have  no  sense  of  honor  and  their  idea  of  specu- 
lation is  to  invest  a  shoe  string  with  an  idea  of  securing 
a  tannery. 

One  of  these  producers  was  standing  in  the  lobby  of 
a  New  York  theatre,  last  season,  on  the  eve  of  one  of 
his  $30,000.00  productions,  when  he  was  approached  by 
one  of  the  leading  actors  of  the  past  winter,  to  whom 
he  owed  several  thousand  dollars  back  salary.  The 
actor  offered  to  compromise  for  a  thousand.  The 
manager  looked  at  him  and  replied:  "My  boy,  where 
could  I  get  the  thousand?"  These  are  the  methods 
that  are  destroying  the  theatrical  game. 

Irresponsible  managers  have  only  to  enter  the  office 
of  these  syndicates,  assure  the  gentleman  in  charge  that 
they  have  a  production  ready  costing  many  thousands 
of  dollars,  and  the  booking  agent  at  once  arranges  a 
tour,  throwing  aside  standard  attractions  who  have  not 
invested  quite  as  much  money  as  the  new  producer, 
and  the  older  attraction  must  take  what  is  given  him 
or  leave  it  alone.  If  he  objects,  he  is  told  that  the 
Mushroom  Manager  has  invested  from  $20,000  to 
$50,000  in  his  enterprise  and  his  capital  must  be  pro- 
tected and  the  terms  made  accordingly.  In  other  words, 
the  booking  agents  gamble  with  them  and  allow  them  a 
percentage  of  the  gross  receipts  according  to  the  amount 
of  his  investment.  I  consider  this  all  wrong  and  one 
of  the  reasons  of  the  unsuccessful  theatres  of  the  present 
day. 

Men  who  have  judgment  and  talent  should  be  pro- 
tected. If  they  draw  the  money,  what  matter  to  the 
booking  agent  what  amount  of  money  has  been  invested  ? 

Three  or  four  of  these  Mushroom  Managers  have 
gone    into    bankruptcy    this    season    and    they    can    be 


MUSHROOM   MANAGERS  343 

found  every  evening  at  present,  tangoing  on  the  various 
roof  gardens,  where  they  belong. 

There  is  no  denying  the  fact  that  as  a  nation  we 
prate  about  patriotism  that  does  not  exist.  Every 
foreign  artist  who  visits  our  shores  finds  us  ready  to 
bow  down  and  pay  homage,  be  it  the  Mistress  of  a 
dethroned  king,  a  bare-legged  Countess  or  an  anemic 
tragedian.  I  have  no  desire  to  be  personal;  but  the 
adulation,  attention  and  grovelling  at  the  feet  of  Sir 
Johnston  Forbes-Robertson  is  to  me,  as  an  American 
actor,  simply  disgusting;  not  that  Sir  John  is  not  a  good 
actor,  or  even  a  great  actor,  but  I  have  memories  of  a 
departed  actor  named  Edwin  Booth,  who  lost  a  million 
dollars  in  an  honest  endeavor  to  perpetuate  his  art  by 
erecting  a  playhouse  which  bore  his  name.  Now,  this 
foreigner  who  has  done  absolutely  nothing  to  advance 
the  art  of  acting,  advertises  his  farewell  to  a  public 
who  are  as  fickle  as  they  are  undiscriminating  and  packs 
the  theatres,  giving  his  last  performance  in  New  York 
to  receipts  that  dear  Edwin  Booth  never  dreamed  of 
playing  to;  conspicuous  citizens  pay  him  tribute,  and 
go  forth  proclaiming  his  performance  of  Hamlet  superior 
to  that  of  Booth.  How  we  Americans  forget  and  fawn. 
One  of  our  best  known  and  oldest  comedians  at  present 
appearing  before  the  public,  had  the  extreme  bad  taste 
after  witnessing  the  performance  of  Robertson's  Hamlet, 
to  enter  the  Players  Club,  which  Edwin  Booth  pre- 
sented to  the  profession,  and  pronounce  Robertson's 
Hamlet  superior  to  Booth's.  As  a  boy  I  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  witnessing  Booth  play  Hamlet;  I  saw  a  prince 
to  his  finger  tips  looking  the  character  of  a  philosopher 
of  thirty,  and  playing  it  to  perfection.  Now  an  anemic 
old  gentleman  past  sixty,  with  a  supporting  company 
of  which  Corse  Payton  would  be  ashamed,  is  packing 
the  playhouses  of  America,  bidding  farewell  to  a  public 
that   has    long   since    forgotten    Edwin   Booth    and    his 


344  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

supporting  company,  which  included  such  actors  as 
Edwin  Adams,  John  McCulIough,  Milnes  Levick  and 
divers  others  of  equal  talents.  One  never  heard  of 
E.  L.  Davenport's  farewell  nor  Edwin  Forrest's,  another 
actor  who  left  a  home  for  actors  incapacitated  for 
work;  they  are  in  the  grave,  forgotten.  Actors  are 
walking  Broadway  seeking  employment,  others  are 
travelling  seeking  to  earn  a  livelihood,  while  an  anemic 
old  gentleman  is  calmly  gathering  in  the  American 
dollars  to  build  his  English  palace. 

How  unfortunate  to  grow  up  with  one*s  Country! 
Far  better  to  burst  suddenly  upon  it  —  unknown  — 
but  heralded! 

One  failure  in  America  will  blot  out  the  memory  of  a 
score  of  successes.     Here  art  is  sold  by  the  yard. 

To  realize  the  unimportance  of  art,  read  the  average 
critical  review  of  it. 

Acting  is  now  a  matter  of  geography. 

America  is  the  English  actor's  Mecca;  England  is  our 
cemetery. 


■i^^ 

!i^^- 


^■^^^^- 


.^■-^r- 


ft'- 


i  , 


/L,  /l/k 


icelth«?f 


^4|ir|£^^^' 


Drawn  while  We  were  "Barnstorming" 


Chapter  LXXXI V 
"KEEP  OFF  THE  GRASS" 


WONDER  if  the  average  American 
citizen,  particularly  that  type  of  long- 
haired reformer  whom  the  middle  west 
sends  to  Southern  California,  ever  stops 
to  seek  the  reason  for  the  annual  exodus 
abroad  of  so  many  of  us.  In  these 
annual  trips  to  Europe  we  leave  millions  of  dollars 
earned  in  this  country  to  add  to  the  coffers  of  those 
who  understand  the  broad  principles  and  liberal  ideas 
of  government. 

It  is  for  freedom!  Free  thought!  Free  inclinations! 
Free  expenditures!  Masters  of  themselves,  they  go 
where  they  please,  eat  and  drink  what  they  desire  at 
any  hour,  time  and  place.  There  they  are  not  sub- 
servient to  the  prying  eyes  of  long-haired  men  and 
short-haired  women.  There  they  find  a  patch  of  green 
for  rest  and  recreation  without  a  sign  reading  "Keep 
off  the  Grass." 

The  majority  of  the  law-makers  of  our  supposedly 
free  country  are  not  legislators.  They  are  either 
school-teachers  or  policemen  or  hypocritical  saints  who 
eat  cold  food  on  Sunday  and  prate  from  their  platform 
of  platitudes  their  plenary  inspirations  with  a  desire 
that  all  mankind  do  likewise.  If  you  fail  to  live  up  to 
their  doctrines  you  are  a  heretic.  If  you  desire  to  live 
among  them  with  free  instincts  you  write  yourself 
down  an  anchorite.  Personally,  I  would  rather  be  a 
Hyperborean  and  subsist  on  icicles  than  be  compelled 
to  live  subject   to  the   insular   municipal   laws   of  this 

345 


346  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

boasted  free  country.  Were  I  personally  denied  the 
opportunity  of  visiting  the  various  capitals  of  Europe 
at  intervals  and  watching  and  enjoying  results  of 
modern  civilization  and  really  free  government,  I  might 
be  converted  and  agree  with  some  of  the  ignorant  and 
incompetent  law-makers  of  our  so-called  free  country. 

Come,  oh,  come  with  me,  some  of  you  moralists  who 
consider  it  a  crime  to  take  a  cocktail  on  the  Sabbath, 
and  visit  Berhn,  the  best  governed  city  in  the  world, 
where  life  begins  at  midnight  and  continues  for  twenty- 
four  hours.  Then  let  us  on  to  Paris  and  Vienna  and 
St.  Petersburg,  with  a  stop  at  Rome.  Gaze  upon  the 
many  happy  faces,  a  large  per  cent  truant,  free  American 
citizens  enjoying  themselves  like  school  children  at 
recess,  finding  a  respite  from  the  puritanical  laws  of 
their  own  country.  No  arbitrary  ordinances  forbid 
their  ordering  wine,  visiting  the  race  courses,  playing 
at  baccarat,  spending  an  evening  at  the  opera,  and  there 
are  no  policemen  to  tell  them  "Keep  off  the  grass." 

And  all  this  enjoyment  on  the  Lord's  Day!  Fancy! 
How  horrible!  What  blasphemy!  Truly  shocking!  It 
is  enough  to  make  John  Calvin  ask  his  neighbor  to  turn 
over. 

Does  it  ever  occur  to  these  psalm  singers  that  people 
do  this  of  their  own  vohtion?  There  are  as  many 
Cathedrals  as  there  are  restaurants,  but  there  is  no  law 
that  compels  you  to  patronize  either. 

We  are  denied  the  sport  of  Kings  —  horse  racing. 
In  England  racing  is  upheld  by  royalty  and  the  House 
of  Lords.  Here  it  is  decried  by  disloyalty  and  a  house 
of  cards. 

It  would  be  amusing  to  the  native  American  who  has 
travelled  throughout  the  world  and  watched  the  growth 
of  really  free  and  sensible  governments,  were  it  not  so 
humihating,  to  regard  this  wave  of  morality  that  is 
sweeping  the  country  like  a  forest  fire. 


KEEP  OFF  THE  GRASS  347 

That  bewhiskered  gentleman  in  New  York,  who 
wielded  his  scepter  of  cant  from  the  governor's  chair, 
confessed  he  had  never  attended  a  theatre  or  seen  a 
horse  race.  I  can  well  believe  it.  I  presume  when  he 
was  at  college  the  pantry  attracted  him  more  than  the 
foot  ball  field.  He  chooses  to  disfigure  his  face  with  a 
square  cut  beard.  Therefore  from  his  point  of  view 
barbers  are  unnecessary!  Why  didn't  he  shut  up  all 
the  barber  shops  and  revoke  the  Gillette  Safety  Razor 
patent?  He  has  just  as  much  authority,  morally,  to 
shut  up  all  the  restaurants  and  bars  because  he  never 
tasted  wine.  A  good  tonsorial  spree  and  a  cocktail 
would  benefit  this  disciple  of  John  Knox,  I  am  sure. 

Fancy  an  ordinance  in  this  free  country  forbidding 
wine  at  restaurants  on  Sundays  unless  a  meal  is  ordered 
and  that  hot!  Can  you  imagine  anything  more  ludi- 
crous than  these  psalm  singers  making  arbitrary  laws 
about  the  temperature  of  our  food?  No  prize  fights 
are  allowed  nor  even  pictures  of  the  manly  art  of  self- 
defense  to  be  shown.  What  a  rebuke  to  American  man- 
hood!    What  a  future  for  our  sons  to  contemplate! 

Boys  in  time  to  come  will  settle  their  disputes  crochet- 
ing and  knitting  instead  of  in  a  good  stand  up  fight  as 
in  the  days  of  old. 

You  won't  take  your  son  to  witness  the  pictures  of 
the  Jeffries-Johnson  fight,  but  you  will  accompany  your 
daughter  to  view  an  amorous  picture. 

Gambhng  of  every  description  is  debarred  and  all  the 
public  parks  feature  "Keep  off  the  Grass!"  No  wonder 
we  are  known  as  a  nation  of  travellers.  How  different 
it  is  abroad.  Frenchmen  never  leave  France,  Germans, 
Germany  and  the  average  Londoner  seldom  gets  beyond 
the  sound  of  Bow  Bells.  Yet  true  born  Americans  w4II 
go  anywhere  to  escape  the  thraldom  of  the  insular  laws 
of  this  supposedly  free  country,  only  returning  to  gather 
enough  shekels  to  enable  them  to  buy  more  freedom. 


348  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

I  learn  from  a  banker  of  Los  Angeles  that  more  than 
$700,000  was  drawn  from  the  city  banks  one  summer  in 
cheques  and  letters  of  credit  on  European  houses. 
Imagine  anyone  leaving  the  gorgeous  city  of  Los 
Angeles.  And  yet  there  is  a  reason  —  less  climate, 
more  freedom. 

I  predict  ere  long  if  the  present  conditions  continue 
everyone  who  can  afford  it  and  who  has  red  corpuscles 
flowing  through  his  veins  will  spend  his  holidays  abroad. 
Ten  times  $700,000  will  be  drawn  from  the  banks  of  Los 
Angeles  annually  unless  some  live  one  is  put  at  the  helm 
of  that  grand  sFiip  —  Los  Angeles. 

Contrast  the  seaside  resorts  of  Ostend,  Aix-Ies-Bains, 
Trouville  and  Dieppe  with  our  Coney  Island,  Atlantic 
City  and  Ocean  Park,  California.  At  Ocean  Park  we 
have  the  same  sunshine  and  sea  as  the  Mediterranean, 
with  a  few  mountains  thrown  in.  God  gave  us  the  best 
of  it  —  man  the  worst. 

At  the  seashore  in  foreign  countries  are  beautiful 
hotels,  delightful  promenades  and  a  Casino  where  one  is 
allowed  to  gamble.  Fancy  gambling  by  the  sea  and  the 
government  permitting  it!  And  why  not?  Part  of  the 
revenue  goes  toward  maintaining  its  charities  and 
churches.  The  government  realizes  it  is  the  duty  of 
every  municipality  to  enhance  its  treasury  for  the 
benefit  of  its  institutions  and  the  poor.  Ten  per  cent 
of  the  revenues  of  the  race  tracks  in  France  the  govern- 
ment confiscates  —  and  quite  right.  I  would  rather 
contribute  to  the  church  from  my  winnings,  racing,  than 
pay  a  like  amount  into  the  poor  box  listening  to  a  stupid 
sermon  in  a  poorly  ventilated  church. 

One  can  be  ten  times  more  devout  paying  admission 
Into  Heaven  with  another  fellow's  money! 

These  far  sighted  foreigners  have  taken  advantage  of 
our  insular  laws  with  the  result  that  they  have  attracted 
the  rich  of  the  universe  who  desire  to  spend  their  money 


KEEP  OFF  THE  GRASS  349 

as  they  wish.  They  prefer  Casinos  to  shacks  —  people 
to  peanuts. 

Here  are  we  in  beautiful  Los  Angeles  with  laws  as 
arbitrary  as  Salem  a  hundred  years  ago.  No  wines  are 
served  on  the  Sabbath;  a  race  course  is  going  to  decay; 
wantons  and  women  of  the  street  are  compelled  to  move 
on.  In  all  the  European  cities  the  poor  wanderers  are 
protected  by  the  laws  and  placed  within  the  jurisdiction 
of  the  medical  fraternity  and  housed  instead  of  hounded. 
Necessary  evils  must  be  protected  for  the  sake  of 
humanity. 

If  we  would  only  open  the  flood-gates  of  progress, 
batter  down  the  doors  of  dogmatism,  take  off  the  lid 
that  suffocates  the  rich  and  strangle  the  cant  and 
hypocrisy  of  these  modern  reformers  —  the  Magdalenes 
would  have  shelter;  race  tracks  would  be  permitted  to 
give  enjoyment  to  those  who  appreciate  the  sport  of 
Kings;  prohibition  would  cease  to  make  drunkards; 
freedom  would  run  amuck;  turnpikes  would  be  estab- 
lished from  coast  to  coast;  the  incense  of  orange 
blossoms  would  permeate  to  the  Atlantic  —  and  Cali- 
fornia become  the  rendezvous  of  the  world. 

A  hypocrite  is  one  who  emerges  from  his  own  shadow 
and  apologizes  to  the  sun  for  asking  it  to  shine. 

Idle  gossip  is  a  busy  bee. 

The  astronomers  who  almost  opened  the  gate  of 
heaven  crucified  the  souls  of  those  who  held  tickets  of 
admission. 


Chapter  LXXXV 
CALIFORNIA 


HAT  a  royal  country  is  California! 

I  am  the  happy  possessor  of  an  alfalfa 
and  orange  ranch  in  San  Jacinto  county. 
How  beautiful  it  is!  As  I  stand  under 
the  trees  at  sunset  I  contemplate  a  scene 
not  equaled  even  in  the  beautiful  Aus- 
trian Tyrol! 

Down  from  the  mountain  top,  furrowed  with  many 
natural  terraces  from  the  base  to  the  crest,  trimmed  by 
gradually  receding  rows  of  full  grown  orange  trees  to 
the  infant  ones,  just  planted,  I  look  with  reverence  upon 
the  valley.  I  see  the  bovine  and  the  hog  bow  as  the 
Angelus  is  heard.  The  lilac  and  the  rose  hold  converse 
and  whisper  to  the  sun  to  shed  less  hght  that  they  may 
embrace  and  sink  into  the  night.  The  chug  of  the 
practical  water  pump  gives  demonstration  that  it  must 
nourish  the  alfalfa's  hfe,  only  to  destroy  it,  to  give  added 
life  to  the  tenants  of  the  velvety  carpet. 

All  is  hushed,  the  fowls  bidden  hence  by  the  watch- 
man, Chanticleer,  to  their  respective  homes.  Mistress 
Hen  to  quench  the  fires  and  prepare  for  dawn.  The 
stately  Eucalyptus  nods  his  head  signifying  that  time 
is  done.  The  sun  apologetically  starts  away  to  make 
his  daily  run.  The  vegetables  prepare  themselves  for 
the  noonday  meal,  the  barley  and  the  oats  keep  tune 
to  the  zephyr's  lullaby  as  they  sink  gracefully  into 
slumberland. 

350 


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CALIFORNIA  351 

From  the  East  the  gentleman  called  Moon  appears 
and  smilingly  bids  all  good  cheer,  for,  when  he's  on  the 
watch,  care  vanishes. 

All  is  hushed. 

The  twinkling  of  the  stars  seems  to  make  a  melody  as 
they  hit  and  strike  each  other  down  the  heavens. 
Something  moves,  as  if  to  destroy  the  harmony  of 
thought.  An  Indian  ghdes  by  with  just  a  sign  of 
recognition  as  he  passes  on  to  the  adjacent  mountain, 
which  the  government  is  pleased  to  call  a  reservation. 

A  hmpid,  casual  stream  flows  slyly  down  as  if  fearful 
of  discovery.  The  shrill,  demoniac  bark  of  the  coyote 
gives  the  chickens  and  the  goats  warning  that  the 
scavenger  of  the  desert  is  near,  seeking  to  destroy. 
Then  all  is  hushed  again  and  a  luminous  silence  known 
only  to  the  few  imparts  to  us  the  fact  that  a  day  has 
died.  But  another  and  another  will  yet  be  born  — 
and  thus  they'll  come  and  go  until  eternity. 

Life  is  a  bridge  of  sighs  over  which  memory  glides 
into  a  torrent  of  tears. 

There  is  nothing  so  serious  as  fun. 

I  have  never  known  a  true  comedian  who  was  not  a 
master  of  sentiment. 

All  the  tragedians  whom  I  have  ever  known  were 
never  more  tragic  than  when  they  tried  to  be  comic. 


Chapter  LXXXVI 
I  BECOME  A  BARNSTORMER! 


HILE  I  was  at  work  on  my  ranch,  dis- 
gusted with  the  methods  of  New  York 
managers,  I  received  a  proposition  from 
OKver  Morosco  to  appear  in  New  York 
under  his  management  in  a  new  play 
which  I  was  first  to  try  out  with  one  of 
his  stock  companies  in  Los  Angeles.  If  that  play 
proved  a  failure  Morosco  agreed  to  submit  others  to  me 
until  we  finally  succeeded  in  finding  a  success.  Evi- 
dently my  short  season  with  the  opposition  stock  com- 
pany had  given  Morosco  pause! 

It  looked  like  an  advantageous  off'er  and  I  accepted, 
consenting  to  appear  in  "Oliver  Twist"  in  one  of  his 
stock  houses  —  among  other  plays.  We  had  just  begun 
rehearsals  of  "Oliver  Twist'*  when  an  accident  laid 
me  low. 

Morosco,  who  was  in  New  York  at  the  time,  sent  two 
of  his  employes  to  my  house  within  an  hour  after  I  had 
been  carried  in  and  from  them  and  from  him,  by  tele- 
grams, I  received  repeated  assurances  that  I  need  not 
worry,  that  the  contract  would  continue  in  force  indefi- 
nitely. As  soon  as  I  should  be  able  to  appear  on  the 
stage  Morosco  promised  to  carry  out  his  part  of  the 
agreement  to  the  letter. 

I  was  sufficiently  recovered  in  February,  19 13,  to 
appear  as  Fagin.  The  play  ran  three  weeks  at  the  stock 
house  in  Los  Angeles  and  then  I  found  myself  wondering 
what  was  to  become  of  me!    The  great  Morosco  was 

352 


I   BECOME  A    BARNSTORMER!  353 

"back  East"  somewhere.  No  one  seemed  to  be  able  to 
locate  him  or  to  get  word  to  him.  So  I  waited  about 
four  or  five  weeks  on  the  pleasure  of  this  magnate! 
Finally  came  word  that  we  were  to  organize  a  company 
on  the  spot  and  make  a  tour  of  the  Coast  in  "Oliver 
Twist,"  extending  it  to  Canada  and  continuing  in  it  for 
the  remainder  of  the  season. 

I  had  heard  of  but  had  never  known  what  "barn- 
storming" meant  before. 

I  know  now! 

The  production  which  Morosco  sent  out  with  me  was 
the  thrown-together  junk  which  had  been  used  in  the 
stock  production.  It  was  never  intended  to  last  more 
than  a  few  weeks  or  to  be  moved!  It  was  quite  the 
worst  collection  of  moth-eaten  scenery  and  "properties" 
I  ever  saw.  The  company,  with  a  very  few  exceptions, 
was  recruited  from  the  members  of  the  Morosco  stock 
companies  who  chanced  to  be  idle  at  the  moment. 
Some  of  the  men,  driven  desperate  by  the  nature  of 
the  backwoods  country  through  which  our  route  lay, 
were  thoroughly  intoxicated  (and  not  infrequently  blind 
drunk!)  most  of  the  time  —  and  I  for  one  had  no  heart 
to  reprove  them! 

Some  of  the  towns  we  played  are  not  on  any  map  — 
the  map  could  never  survive  it!  From  pillar  to  post 
w^e  were  yanked  along  over  single-track  railroads  — 
with  bits  of  our  scenery  falling  out  through  open  bag- 
gage doors  all  along  the  line!  How  that  scenery  ever 
managed  to  hang  together  as  long  as  it  did  has  always 
puzzled  me.  Finally  we  had  to  eliminate  the  London 
bridge  scene.  The  platforms  were  so  insecure  it  was 
positively  dangerous  for  the  actors  to  stand  on  them. 
This  was  one  of  the  greatest  and  most  effective  scenes 
in  the  New  York  production  and  gave  my  leading 
woman,  Miss  Moreland,  as  Nancy,  one  of  her  biggest 
moments. 


354  NAT  GOODWIN'S  BOOK 

The  night  before  we  took  it  off,  in  one  of  the  smaller 
Coast  towns,  some  of  the  gallery  boys,  noticing  the 
stone  (!)  steps  and  huge  pillars  of  granite  (God  save 
the  mark!)  wabbling  to  ajid  fro,  began  to  whistle 
** London  Bridge  is  falling  down"  —  and  in  a  moment 
the  whole  house  had  taken  it  up! 

That  was  enough  for  me.  After  five  weeks  of  miser- 
able business  we  closed  in  Victoria  and  I  returned  to  my 
beach  home  outside  Los  Angeles  to  the  far  more  con- 
genial task  of  completing  this  book.  I  sincerely  hope 
you,  dear  reader,  will  fmd  as  much  pleasure  in-' reading 
what  I've  written  as  I  have  found  in  its  composition. 
I  have  striven  to  be  kind  to  everyone  in  these  pages  and 
if  any  of  my  criticisms  appear  harsh  or  my  views  on 
various  subjects  be  considered  arrogant,  pray  accept 
my  apologies.  I  have  written  as  I  think  and  whatever 
the  verdict  I  stand  by  my  guns. 

What  will  the  verdict  be? 

I  wonder. 

I  say  I  returned  to  my  home  to  complete  this  book. 
I  did  —  and  I  thank  the  gods  that  Fate  stepped  in  and 
for  once  was  kindly  enough  disposed  to  permit  me  to 
write  the  most  appropriate  and  happy  finis  any  book  of 
mine  could  have! 

Fact  and  unconsecrated  fields  oppose  faith  and 
architecture. 


I 


Chapter  LXXXVII 
NUMBER   FIVE 


ij  llfH^  ^^y  (^  beautiful  day  in  May,  191 3, 
^^A  '  such  a  day  as  only  Southern  California 
at  its  happiest  moment  knows),  I  made 
Margaret  Moreland  my  wife  I  once 
again  set  the  buzzards  and  the  gossips 
to  wagging  their  ears  and  tongues  and 
lashing  their  tails  (I  have  always  been  sure  both  have 
tails!). 

My  first  (wife)  was  an  angel; 
My  second  a  silly  woman; 
My  third  a  Roman  Senator; 
My  fourth  a  pretty  little  thing; 
My  fifth  —  all  woman ! 

My  whole  (desire)   was  by  repetition  to  prove  that 
hope  can  conquer  experience! 


355 


Chapter  LXXXVIII 


L'ENVOI 

AM  sorry  for  the  poor  American  who 
deserts  this  sun-kissed  California  country 
for  worn-out  Europe.  I  am  enjoying 
the  breezes  and  ozone  wafted  from  the 
great  Pacific  while  poor  deluded  Eastern 
folk  are  festering  in  heat  and  humidity, 
varied  only  by  an  occasional  murky  thunderstorm. 

I  face  the  sea  and  at  my  back  are  roses!  On  either 
side  the  blue-brown  mountains  hold  converse  with  the 
sun  and  stars  and  dip  their  august  heads  in  silent 
acquiescence  to  the  others*  whispers.  At  night  massive 
Mars,  always  on  duty,  ever  luminous,  sternly  bids  them 
silence  and  the  world  to  "go  to"  while  he  blinks  a 
patronizing  approval  upon  those  "beneath"  him.  He 
has  much  of  cynicism  in  his  blinking  as  he  contemplates 
this  tiny  carbon.  Earth,  for  all  his  constant  attendance. 
Mars  is  my  companion,  ever  peering  through  my  case- 
ment. Only  our  sex  and  distance  prevent  a  silent 
flirtation!  I  am  sometimes  tempted  to  address  him 
anyhow,  but  his  majesty  always  awes  me.  Still,  I  find 
consolation  communing  with  the  waves  that  lull  me  to 
sleep  as  they  embrace  the  sandy  shore.  The  consolation 
is  all  too  brief,  the  sleep  intermittent,  and  I  awake  to 
fly  back  to  the  companionship  of  Mars. 

He  is  such  a  splendid  officer!  Always  on  guard  — 
at  sea  and  over  the  desert.  He  seldom  shows  himself 
resplendent  in  crowded  cities.  He  dislikes  company 
and  turmoil.     He  is  always  alone,  now  and  then  racing 

356 


L'ENVOI  357 

with  the  moon  and  always  leaving  that  gentleman  to 
the  left  as  he  smilingly  beckons  the  wary  miner  of  the 
desert  and  the  patient  mariner  of  the  sea  to  the  right. 
Mars  knows  the  road  —  a  magnificent,  reticent  soldier 
—  and  I  pray  ere  long  my  friend  Tesia  will  make  him 
better  known. 

The  drab  morning  is  approaching  o'er  the  mountain 
tops.  A  sea  gull  of  corresponding  color  is  on  the  sand, 
seeking  what  it  may  devour.  The  color  of  the  bird 
and  atmosphere  are  not  to  my  fancy. 

I  am  going  to  beg  a  favor  of  sleep  and  awake  when 
the  colors  are  more  radiant,  w^hen  the  sunbeams  ghsten 
and  dance  from  sky  to  wave,  when  the  white  clouds 
meet  and  kiss  the  shadow  that  lets  fall  diamond  drops 
of  crystal  that  quench  the  thirst  of  the  flowers  and  give 
them  hfe. 

My  home  is  by  the  sea.  My  lot  is  one  hundred  feet 
wide.  Its  height  is  interminable.  It  is  a  thousand 
fathoms  deep!     My  front  yard  extends  to  the  Antipodes. 

Am  I  not  to  be  envied? 

I  wonder? 


INDEX 


Abies,  Eddy,  128 

Academy  of  Music,  30 

Adams,  Edwin,  56,  119,  344 

Adams  House,  153 

Adams,  Maude,  in,  112,  121,  125,  169 

"Alabama,"  171 

"Alabaster  Staircase,  The,"  253 

Albaugh,  John,  85 

Aldrich,  Louis,  280 

Allen,  John,  149 

Allen,  Viola,  182,  290 

"Altar  of  Friendship,  The,"  249 

Amber,  Mabel,  172 

"Ambition,"  174-176 

"American  Citizen,  An,"  232,  235,  241, 

243-245,  307,  309 
Anderson,  Mary,  35 
"Andre,  Major,"  250 
"Antony,  Mark,"  30 
Appleton,  George,  236 
Archer,  Belle,  95 
Archer,  Fred,  95 
Arch  Street  Theatre,  26 
Armstrong,  Paul,  no 
Arthur,  Chester,  148 
Arthur,  Paul,  121,  122 
"As  a  Man  Thinks,"  330 
"As  in  a  Looking-GIass,"  42 
Attell,  Abe,  192 
Auditorium  Theatre,  327 

Babcock,  Theodore,  168 

"Baby  Mine,"  in 

Baldwin's  Theatre,  211,  214,  241 

Ball,  William,  89 

"Banker's  Daughter,  The,"  72 

Barrett,  Lawrence,  30,  35,  48,  56,  99, 

112,  282 
Barrett,  Louis,  168,  172 
Barron,  Elwyn,  273 
Barry,  Billy,  36,  97 
Barrj^more,  Ethel,  42,  267 
Barrymore,  Georgie  Drew,  44 


Barrymore,  John,  42 

Barrymore,  Lionel,  42 

Barrymore,  Maurice,  41-44,  171,  329 

Bates,  Blanche,  217,  220,  243,  336 

"Beauty  and  the  Barge,"  90,  105,  252 

Beck,  Senator,  148 

Becket,  Harry,  98 

Beefsteak  Club,  39 

Beere,  Mrs.  Bernard,  42 

Belasco,  David,  173,  290,  336 

Belasco  Theatre,  336 

Bell,  Digby,  159,  161 

Bellew,  Kyrle,  237 

Bellewood,  Bessie,  160,  161 

"Bells,  The,"  92,  141 

Bennett,  James  O'Donnell,  273 

Bergman,  Henry,  174 

Bernand,  152 

Bernhardt,  Sarah,  in,  112,  274 

"Bertha,   the  Sewing  Machine  Girl," 

115 
Bigelow,  Charles,  50 
Bijou  Theatre,  52,  91,  94,  140 
Bingham,  Amelia,  in 
Bishop,  Charles,  92,  140 
Blackburne,  Senator,  148 
"Black  Cloak,  The,"  68 
"Black  Flag,  The,"  67 
Blake,  William,  47 
Blethen,  Alden  J.,  18 
Blaine,  James  G.,  148,  150,  163 
Bloodgood,  Clara,  in 
Bloodgood,  Henry,  29 
Bohemian  Club,  216 
"Bookmaker,  The,"  127,  128 
Booth,  Edwin,  47,  48,  56,  71,  99,  112, 

119,  226,  274,  282,  343 
Booth's  Theatre,  58 
Boston  "Advertiser,"  89 
Boston  Museum,  22,  94,  143,  154,  280 
Boston  "  Post,"  51 
Boston  Theatre,  22 
Boston  Theatre  Stock  Company,  56 


360 


INDEX 


"Bottle,  The,"  23 

"Bottom,  Nick,"  90 

"Bottom's  Dream,  Col.  Tom,"  96 

Boucicault,  Dion,  57,  59 

"Bought  and  Paid  For,"  no,  iii,  286 

Bouser,  Charles,  86 

Boylan,  Tommy,  61 

Bradford,  Joseph,  26-29,  75.  273 

Brady,  William,  283 

Brewer,  293-298 

Brice,  Senator,  148 

Broadhurst,  George,  286,  309,  312,  320 

Broadway  Theatre,  29,  40 

Brooke,  Gustavus,  119 

Brooks,  Joseph,  47,  107,  113,  182,  220 

Brougham,  John,  82 

Browning,  Miss,  211 

Brj^on,  Fred,  96 

Buckley,  Ned,  96,  147 

Burbeck,  Frank,  87 

Burk,  Charles,  47 

Burke,  Billie,  1 11 

Burton,  William  E.,  47 

Bush  Street  Theatre,  190 

"Butterflies,  The,"  169  — 

Byron,  Arthur,  250 

"Camille,"  132 

Campbell,  Bartley,  280 

"Candidate,  The,"  94 

Cannon,  Anthony,  82 

"Captain,  The,"  287,  326 

Carlisle,  Alexandra,  307,  308 

Carlisle,  Frank,  172,  329 

Carlisle,  John  G.,  148 

Carlton,  Henry  Guy,  168-X70,  174-176 

Carter,  Mrs.  Leslie,  172,  336 

Casino,  141 

"Caste,"  274 

Cazuran,  A.  R.,  67,  68,  73 

"Celebrated  Case,  A,"  57 

Chamberlain,  John,  148,  151 

Chambers,  Haddon,  254 

"Chantecler,"  123 

Cincinnati  Festival,  112 

"Cinderella  at  School,"  94,  143 

Clancy,  Veney,  80 

Clapp,  Henry  A.,  89,  273 

Clarke,  Marguerite,  1 1 1 

Clayton,  Estelle,  144,  145 

Qaxton,  Kate,  99 


Cleveland,  Grover,  149 

Cliff  House,  223 

"Climbers,  The,"  in 

Qine,  Maggie,  125 

Coe,  Isabel,  121,  122 

Coghlan,  Charles,  57,  58,  96 

Cohan,  George,  51,  112,  177,  178 

Collier,  Jim,  96 

Collier,  Willie,  71,  288-289 

Collins,  Charlie,  100 

Collins,  Constance,  332 

"Confusion,"  92 

Conklin,  Roscoe,  148,  150 

Conners,  Billy,  70,  97 

Considine,  George,  195 

Cooke,  George  Frederick,  119 

Coote,  Charlie,  142 

Coote,  Robert,  92 

Coquelin,  123 

Corbett,  James  J.,  164-165,  283 

Couldock,  William,  182 

Coulter,  Fraser,  211 

Covent  Garden,  60 

"Cowboy  and  the  Lady,  The,"  248 

Craig,  Robert,  26 

Crane,  William  H.,  30,  45,  80,  106,  182 

Crinkle,  Nym,  143 

Crisp,  Speaker,  149 

Criterion  Theatre,  54 

"Cromwell,  Oliver,"  140 

"Crosstree,  Captain,"  79 

"Cruets,"  84,  86 

Crystal  Palace,  152 

Cummings,  Amos,  149 

Cushman,  Charlotte,  56 

Dailey,  Peter,  49,  50 
Dale,  Alan,  250 
Daly,  Arnold,  282 
Daly,  Augustin,  70 
Daly,  John,  97 
Daly,  William  H.,  35 
Dasher,  Bert,  52 
Davenport,  E.  L.,  119,  276,  344 
Davenport,  Fanny,  106 
Davey,  Tom,  97 
Denver  "Post,"  218 
Detroit  "  Free  Press,"  89 
"Dietrich,  Captain,"  80 
Dixey,  Henry  E.,  92,  93,  140,  153-154. 
329 


INDEX 


361 


Donnelly,  Henry,  131 
Doro,  Marie,  332 
Dramatic  Schools,  198 
Drew,  John,  97,  in,  169,  181,  217 
Drew,  Mrs.  John,  45,  46,  48 
Drury  Lane  Theatre,  60,  164 
Dupree,  Minnie,  in,  168,  172 
Duse,  Eleanora,  in,  274 
Dyas,  Ada,  97 

"Easiest  Way,  The,"  np 

Edeson,  Robert,  1 1 1 

Edwin,  Eddy,  75 

Elliott,  Gertrude,   217,  220-222,   231- 

232,  234,  238-239 
Elliott,  Maxine,  183,  217-222,  230-232, 

234,  238-239,  243-248,  250,  254-261, 

290,  308 
Elliott  Theatre,  Maxine,  222 
Ely  Central,  299 
Emerson,  Billy,  215 
Emmet,  J.  K.,  99,  106 
Empire  Stock  Company,  290 
Empire  Theatre,  332 
Erianger,  Abe,  105,  107,  108,  247,  250 
"Erminie,"  140,  141 
Esmond,  Henry  V.,  248 
"Evangeline,"  80,  82,  154 
"Evening  Sun,"  91 
Eytinge,  Rose,  97 

"Fagin,"  274,  332,  333,  352 

"False  Shame,"  57 

Farnum,  Bill,  287 

Farnum,  Dnstin,  287 

FarrcII,  Leila,  92,  140 

Faversham,  William,  290 

Fawcett,  George,  174,  329 

Fechter,  Charles,  58,  276 

Fellows,  John  R.,  36 

Field,  Cyrus,  155 

Field,  Kate,  227 

Fifth  Avenue  Theatre,  173 

Fisher's,  Mrs.,  Boarding  House,  22 

Fiske,  James,  Jr.,  156 

Fiske,  Minnie  Maddern,  97 

Fitch,  Clyde,  ni,  222,  245-247,  253 

Flemming,  Mr.,  253 

Fletchers,  The,  131 

Florence,  W.  J.,  48,  84 

"Fool's  Revenge,  A,"  72 


Forbes-Robertson,  221,  343 

Ford,  Charlie,  106 

Ford,  Robert,  284,  285 

Ford's  Theatre,  178 

Forrest,  Edwin,  56,  119,  274,  344 

Forsyth,  Kate,  35,  97 

Fourteenth  Street  Theatre,  79 

Foy,  Eddie,  279 

Frawley,  Tim,  217,  231 

Friars  Club  House,  178 

Frohman,  Charles,   102-105,  112,   124, 

169,  252-253,  304,  332 
Frohman,  Daniel,  102 
Frohman,  Gustavo,  I02 
Fuller,  Loie,  92,  140 
Fuller,  Mollie,  97 

Gaiety  Theatre,  128 

Gait  House,  205 

Gans-Nelson  Fight,  293 

"Garden  of  Allah,  The,"  324 

Garden  Theatre,  43,  175 

Garrick  Club,  38,  69 

Garrick,  David,  91,  119 

"Garrick,  David,"  54,  174-176,  234 

"Gay  Deceiver,  A,"  96 

"Genius,  The,"  91,  306,  308 

George,  Grace,  287 

Gerard,  Florence,  92 

Germaine,  75 

Gilbert,  John,  97 

Gilbert,  W.  S.,  152 

"Gilded  Fool,  A,"  168,  174,  235,  306, 

307 
Gillette,  William,  281,  282 
"Girl  of  the  Golden  West,  The,"  173 
Golden,  Dick,  154,  183,  244 
Goldfield,  294 

"Gold  Mine,  The,"  121,  127,  128 
"Goldsmith,  Oliver,"  153 
Goodale,  George  P.,  89,  273 
Goodi,  236,  237 
Goodrich,  Edna,  309 
Goodwin  Company,  Nat  C,  298 
Goodv.in,  Edward,  95 
Goodwin,  J.  Cheever,  80 
Goodwin,  Nat  C,  as 

Camille,  132 

Captain  Crosstree,  79 

Captain  Dietrich,  80 

Fagin,  274,  332,  333,  352 


362 


INDEX 


Goodwin,  Nat  C,  as  —  Continued 

Grave  Digger,  The,  35 

Jim  Radburn,  172,  211,  214 

Mark  Antony,  30 

Mathias,  141 

Modus,  35 

Ned,  the  Newsboy,  28 

Nick  Bottom,  90 

Shj'Iock,  90,  249 

Sim  Lazarus,  87 

Sir  George  Hounslow,  23 

Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger,  48,  64 
Goodwin,  Nat  C.,  Ill,  137 
Gorman,  Arthur  Pugh,  270 
Gould,  Jay,  156 
Grand  Opera  House,  58,  93 
Grand  Pacific  Hotel,  63 
"Grave  Digger,  The,"  35 
Greene,  Clay  M.,  77,  329 
Greenroom  Qub,  54,  65,  164 
"Gringoire,"  93 
Grubb,  Lillian,  97 
Guitry,  124,  281 
Guy's  Hotel,  61 

Hackett,  James  K.,  267 

"Hale,  Nathan,"  52,  90,  104,  232,  246- 

248 
Hale,  Philip,  273 
Hall,  Blakely,  149,  273 
Hall,  Josie,  97 
Hall,  Pauline,  97 
Hamilton,  Mr.,  54,  s$,  164,  165 
"Hamlet,"  35,  276 
Hammerstein's,  43 
Hampton,  Alf,  29 
Handysides,  Clarence,  211 
HarJey  Sisters,  97 
Harding,  Lyn,  332 
Hare,  John,  253,  274 
Harrigan,  Edward,  83 
Harrigan  and  Hart,  82 
Harris,  Henry,  1 1 1 
Harrison,  Alice,  98 
Harrison,  Louis,  98 
Hart,  Tony,  30,  82,  83,  183 
Hatton,  Frank,  273 
Haverly,  Jack,  loi 
Haworth,  Joseph,  95 
Hayman,  Al,  102,  105 
liaymarket  Theatre,  81 


Hearne,  Chrystal,  278 

Hearne,  James  A.,  277,  278 

Hearne,  Julie,  278 

"Heir  at  Law,  The,"  48.  62 

"Heir  to  the  Hoorah,  The,"  no 

"Held  by  the  Enemy,"  281 

Henderson,  William,  23 

"Her  Own  Way,"  247 

Hicks,  Seymour,  143 

Hilliard,  Robert,  142 

"His  First  Rehearsal,"  75 

"Hobbies,"  86,  87 

Hoffman  House,  96 

Holland  Brothers,  45,  329 

Hollenden  Hotel,  244 

Hollis  Street  Theatre,  251 

Holt,  Clarence,  168 

Holy,  John,  155 

Hooley,  Richard,  180 

Hooley's  Theatre,  127,  172 

Hoops,  Arthur,  168,  172,  211,  225,  240 

Hopper,  DeWoIfe,  159,  161,  162,  182 

"Hounslow,  Sir  George,"  23 

"House  of  Cards,  A,"  175 

Howard  Athenaeum,  23,  27,  75,  79 

Howard,  Bronson,  103 

Howard,  Joe,  Jr.,  149 

Hoyt,  Charles,  51-53,  121 

"Hunchback,  The,"  35 

Hutchins,  Stillson,  66,  89,  273 

IngersoII,  Robert,  33,  116,  150,  163,  211 
"In  Mizzoura,"  iii,  172,  211,  214 
Irving,  Henry,  38-40,  47,  48,  72,  92,  93, 
112,  117,  119,  290,  330 

Jackwood,  103,  255,  264 

Jacob,  L.  H.,  249 

Jacobs,  W.  W.,  252,  253 

James,  Jesse,  284,  285 

Janis,  Elsie,  125 

Jansen,  Marie,  97 

Jefferson,  Charley,  182 

Jefferson,  Joseph,  44-48,  62-64,  182 

Jefferson,  Thomas,  30 

Jeffries- Johnson  Fight,  192,  312 

Jerome,  Lawrence,  149 

Jerome,  Leonard,  155 

Jerome,  William  Travers,  149 

Jones,  Senator,  148 

Jones,  Walter,  244 


INDEX 


363 


Jonson,  Ben,  1 16 
Josephs,  Harry,  80 
"Julius  Caesar,"  30,  35 

Kean,  119 

Keane,  Charles,  336 

Keene,  Laura,  47 

Kelcey,  Herbert,  217 

KildufF,  Jim,  313 

"Kirby,  Cameo,"  287 

Klaw,  Marc,  105 

Klaw  and  Erhinger,  108,  249 

Knickerbocker  Theatre,  70,  91,  104,  123 

Knight,  George,  97 

Knight,  Joseph,  69 

Lackaye,  Wilton,  42,  173,  185,  329 

Lamb,  Charles,  272 

Lambs  Club,  42,  44,  98,  184,  216,  238, 

288,  329,  330 
Langtry,  Lilly,  127 
"Law  in  New  York,"  28 
"Lazarus,  Sim,"  87 
"Led  Astray,"  57,  59 
LeMoyne,  William  J.,  95 
"Lend  Me  Five  Shillings,"  48,  93 
Leslie,  Amy,  273 
Levick,  Mulner,  344 
Lewis,  Alfred  Henry,  253 
Lewis,  Catherine,  95 
Lewis,  James,  97 
Liebler  &  Co.,  287 

"Lion  and  the  Mouse,  The,"  no,  306 
"Lion's  Mouth,  The,"  168 
"Little  Jack  Shepard,"  140,  141 
"Little  Rebel,  The,"  79 
Lotta,  99 

Lyceum  Theatre,  102,  105,  252,  226 
Lyceum  Theatre,  London,  38,  117 

"Macaire,  Robert,"  141 
Macauley,  Barney,  96 
"Macbeth,"  276 
Mackaye,  Steele,  135,  136 
Mackie,  Johnny,  96 
Macklin,  89 
Macready,  1 19 
Madison  Square  Theatre,  281 
Mahone,  William,  148,  150 
Mannering,  Mary,  267 
Manning,  William,  215 


Mansfield,   Richard,  67-74,    106,   246, 

282 
Mantcll,  Robert,  1 19 
"Marionettes,  The,"  132 
Marks,  Eli,  132,  133,  240,  241 
Marlowe,  Julia,  45,  71 
Marshall,  Captain,  253 
Marshall,  Tully,  1 1 1 
Marshall,  Wyzeman,  2^ 
Martinot,  Sadie,  95 
"Mascot,  The,"  94,  143 
Mason,  John,  92,  95,  128,  134,  249,  323, 

330,  331 
"Master  Hand,  The,"  253 
"Mathias,"  141 
Maude,  Cyril,  252 
Mayo,  Frank,  43 
McClellan,  George  B.,  217,  221,   222, 

235,  237,  238 
McCullough,  John,  35-37,  70,  72,  96, 

119,  344 
McDonald,  Sadie,  233 
Mcintosh,  Burr,  172-174 
McKee,  Mrs.  Frank,  121 
McPhelim,  Mr.,  of  Chicago,  273 
Meade,  James,  278 
Melba,  Nellie,  254,  255 
Mellish,  Fuller,  332 
Melville,  Emily,  211 
"Member  for  Slocum,  The,"  87 
"Memnon,"  168 
"Merchant  of  Venice,  The,"  70,  89,  92, 

249,  309 
Metropole  Hotel,  302 
"Midnight  Bell,  A,"  121 
"Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  40,  90, 

250,  251 

"Mighty  Dollar,  The,"  84 

Miles,  Bob,  180 

Miles,  R.  E.  J.,  35 

Miles  and  Barton,  140-142 

Miller,  Henry,  182,  290 

Miner,  Harry,  220 

Miner's  Fifth  Avenue  Theatre,  174 

Mitchell,  Maggie,  99 

Modjeska,  106 

"Modus,"  35 

Moffit,  James,  80 

Montague,  Harry  J.,  96 

Montaine,  Clarence,  174 

"Monte  Cristo,"  58 


3^4 


INDEX 


i 


Montgomery,  James,  286 

Moore,  Mary,  54 

Moreland,    Margaret,    210,    326,    327, 

334,  353.  355 
Morgan,  Matt,  79 
Morne,  Woolson,  143 
Morosco,  Oliver,  154,  327,  352,  353 
Morris,  Clara,  35 
Mortimer,  Estelle,  121,  168,  174 
Morton  House,  99 
"Much  Ado  About  Nothing,"  35 
Murdock,  James  E.,  35 
Murray,  George,  84 
Musgrove,  George,  205,  233,  234,  236 
"Music  Master,  The,"  190 
"My  Partner,"  280 

"Nadjesda,"  42 

Nash,  George,  128,  330 

National  Press  Club,  266 

"Native  Son,  A,"  286 

"Ned,  the  Newsboy,"  28 

Newall,  Major,  131 

New  Amsterdam  Theatre,  90,  250,  252 

Newcombe,  1 1 7 

New  York  "American,"  91 

Niblo's  Garden,  59,  75 

Nixon  and  Zimmerman,  106,  107 

"Nominee,  The,"  94,  121,  127,  128 

Norton,  John,  180 

"Nunky,"  280,  281 

O'Brien,  Mayor,  20 

O'Brien,  Neil,  155,  172,  211,  223 

"Oliver  Twist,"  274,  332-334.  352-353 

Olympic  Theatre,  79 

"Othello,"  35 

"O'Trigger,  Sir  Lucius,"  48,  64 

"Ourselves,"  87 

Owens,  John  E.,  30,  47 

"Paid  in  Full,"  no 

Palmer,  A.  M.,  57,  58,  99,   106,  280, 

281 
Palmer,  Minnie,  79 
Papin,  1 1 7 

"Parisian  Romance,  A,"  67,  68,  70,  74 
Parker  House,  94,  280 
Park  Theatre,  Brooklyn,  36,  280 
PiStor,  Tony,  79 
Payne,  Louis,  172,  174,  211,  223,  240 


Payton,  Corse,  343 

Pease,  Nella  Baker,  131,  134,  139,  230, 

238 
Perry,  Henry,  97 
"Peter  Pan,"  I2i 
Pettit,  Henry,  87 
Phelps,  1 19 
Piercy,  Sam,  96 
Piggott,  James,  127,  128 
"Pinafore,"  94 
Players  Club,  288,  289 
"  Plummer,  Caleb,"  48 
Pomeroy,  "Brick,"  273 
Pond,  Anson,  145,  147 
"Pony,  Big,"  143 
Possart,  47,  119 
Potter,  Mrs.  Brown,  237 
Poussard,  336 
Power,  Tyrone,  126 
"Prisoner  of  Zenda,  The,"  224 
"Private  Secretary,  The,"  280,  281 
"Professor,  The,"  280 
"  Providence  Opera  House,  23,  168 
"Punch,  152 

"Quick's  Patient,  Dr.,"  253 

"  Radburn,  Jim,"  172,  211,  214 
"  Rainbow,  The,"  290 
"  Ramblers,  The,"  87 
Rapley,  106 
RatclifTe,  James,  131 
Raymond,  John  T.,  97,  122 
Rawhide  Coalition,  299 
Read,  Charlie,  96  289 
"  Ready  Money,"  286 
Reed,  Tom,  149,  150 
Reedy,  Marion,  273 
Rehan,  Ada,  97 
Rhea,  M'lle,  35 
Rice,  Edward  E.,  80,  82,  94 
Rice,  Fannie,  45,  131,  132 
Rich  and  Harris,  106 
"  Richard  the  Third,"  321 
"Richelieu,"  in 
Richelieu  Hotel,  Chicago,  62 
Riddel,  George,  89 
Riley,  James  Whitcomb,  157 
"Rip  Van  Winkle,"  47,  48 
"Rivals,  The,"  45,  46,  48,  63,  113,  182^ 
184,  203,  241,  242,  244 


INDEX 


365 


Rix,  Alice,  218 

Robertson,  Ian,  280 

Robinson,  Peter,  216 

Robson,  Frederick,  93 

Robson,  Stuart,  25,  26-34,  59,  75.  106 

"Roderick  Dhu,"  59 

"Romany  Rye,"  153 

"Romeo  and  Juliet,"  35 

Romona's  Restaurant,  161 

Rooney,  Pat,  75 

Rosenfcld.  Sydney,  141,  173,  175,  329 

Rossi,  119 

Rostand,  124 

"Royal  Revenge,  A.,"  96 

Russell,  Annie,  174 

Russell,  Lillian,  97,  197 

Russell,  Sol  Smith,  61-66,  75,  97,  106, 

183 
Ryley,  Tom,  306 

"St.  Catherine,"  318 

St.  James  Hotel,  97 

Salsbury's  Troubadors,  84 

Salvini,  72,  1 19 

Sanford,  Wright,  155 

San  Francisco  "Chronicle,"    216 

Sanger,  Frank,  131,  132,  141 

Savage  Club,  238 

Saville,  John,  174 

Scanlon,  Billy,  36 

Scott,  Clement,  273 

"Second  in  Command,  The,"  253 

"Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray,  The,"  in 

"Seven  Days,"  no 

Shakespeare,  116 

Shakespeare's  Plays,  119 

Shannon,  Effie,  217 

"Shenandoah,"  103 

Shook,  Sheridan,  99 

Shook  and  Palmer,  67 

"Shore  Acres,"  279 

"Shylock,"  90,  249 

Sinn,  Col.,  79 

Sinn,  William,    36 

"Skating  Rink,  The,"  96,  131,  143 

"Sketches  in  India,"  79 

Snyder,  Matt,  98 

Solari's,  68 

Sothern,  E.  H.,  47,  71,  162,  246,  275 

"Sparks,"  87.  96 

Spreckles,  Adolph,  237 


Standard  TTieatre  Company,  68 
Stanley,  Fred,  183 
Stetson,  John,  58,  75,  92 
Stevens,  Ash  ton,  173,  218 
Stevenson,  Robert  Louis,  226-228 
Stevenson,  Mrs.  Robert  Louis,  227-229 
Stoddard,  J.  H.,  67 
Swinnerton,  Jimmie,  218 

Tarkington,  Booth,  287 
Tempest,  Marie,  97 
"Terrible  Time,  A,"  96 
Terry,  Edward,  128 
Terry,  Ellen,  92 
Terry,  Fred,  65 
Theatre  Comique,  82 
Thomas,  Augustus,  1 71-174,  329,  330 
Thomas,  Charlie,  18,  51 
Thompson,  Denman,  75 
Thompson,  Lydia,  80,  81 
Thompson,  William  H.,  128,  265,  290 
Thorne,  Charles  R.,  Jr.,  56-60,  72,  96 
Thome,  Charles  R.,  Sr.,  75,  98 
Thorne,  Edwin,  23,  87,  96 
Thornes,  The,  23,  59 
"Thousand  Years  Ago,  A,"  154 
Toole,  Johnny,  39 
"Too  Much  Johnson,"  281 
Tree,  Sir  Beerbohm,  66,  152,  315,  316 
Tree,  Sir  Herbert,  152 
Tremont  House,  70 
Triangle,  296 

"Trip  to  Chinatown,  A,"  237 
"Turned  Up,"  92,  140-142 
"Two  Orphans,  The,"  99 
Tyler,  George  C,  287,  324,  325,  327, 
332,  333 

Union  Square,  97 

Union  Square  Hotel,  98 

Union  Square  Theatre,  57,  87,  99 

Usner,  Miss,  2 1 1 

"Usurper,  The,"  249 

Van  Otterendorf,  Capt.,  229 
Yokes  Family,  84 

Wallack's  Theatre,  97,  98 
Wallis,  Gladys,  217 
Walnut  Street  Theatre,  82 
Walsh,  Blanche,  211,  219 


366 


INDEX 


Walton,  "Plunger,"  97 

Warfield,  David,  1 1 1,  1 12,  128,  168,  172, 

174,  190,  252 
Warren,  Arthur,  273 
Warren,  William,  19-21,  48,  275 
Watterson,  Henry,    36,    89,    266,   268, 

273 
Weathersby,  Emmy,  81 
Weathersby,  Eliza,  80-87 
Weber  and  Field's,  153 
Weber  and  Field's  Music  Hall,  50,  190 
Webster,  Lizzie,  80 
Western,  Helen,  278 
Western,  Lucille,  277,  278 
Whalley,  William,  278 
"What  Every  Woman  Knows,"  122 
"What    Would    a   Gentleman    Do?", 

253 

Wheeler,  A.  C,  143,  144 


"When  We  Were  Twenty-One,"  248, 

249,  309,  327 
"Why  Women  Sin,"  115 
Wiliard,  273 
Williams,  Arthur,  128 
Williams,  Gus,  75 

Williamson,  James  C.,  233,  234,  236 
Wilson,  AI,  49 

Wilson,  Francis,  45,  106,  107,  141, 
Wilson,  Robert,  172 
Winter,  William,  91 
"Witching  Hour,  The,"  330 
Wolfe,  Benjamin,  84,  85 
"Wolfville,"  90,  253 
Woodthorp,  H.  C.,  211 
Worthing,  Frank,  222 
Wyndham,  Sir  Charles,  54,  55,  93 

Yardley,  William,  93,  140 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA   AT  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


.A\^^ 


tl* 


WW  15  1953 

JUN5   1953 
DEC  1 0  ms 

JUN  1  2  1356 

NOV  2  2 1968 


FonnL-9-15»i-2 '36 


\9Si 


DEC  1 91997 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFOKNIA 

AT 

LOS  ANGELES 

LIBRART 


2287     Goodwin  - 

G6A1     Nat 

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3  1158  00839  605 


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